The Music of the Ainur
by Loki's Symphony
Summary: Five-and-a-half millennia after leaving their home galaxy, the crew of the city-sized seeding ship Iluvátar reach their goal - a sunless primordial planet, waiting to be turned into a new homeworld. But Chief Engineer Melkor has his own designs for "Arda Project", and his megalomania threatens to doom them all...
1. Chapter 1

"_This is the mission log of Captain Eru of the Iluvátar seeding ship. The crew has been awakened 5,530 Ain years into our mission, due to the proximity of a planet matching our specifications. GRG-543 is a rogue planet of approximately 0.89 Ain mass, 1.3 Ain gravity, and with most of the necessary preliminary raw materials. I've given the order for terraforming to go ahead immediately and personally selected officers and crewmen to occupy the planet and begin a new Ainur colony. I am designating this mission 'Arda Project', and the planet is to be referred to as such forthwith. Next log entry in 95 hours. Eru, Iluvátar."_

Silver-black satellites punctuated the shimmering blue forcefield surrounding the planet, their bright white beams distorted by the wall of energy. They dotted the upper atmosphere as far as the eye could see, blasting the molten red surface with streams of liquid nitrogen, calcium plasma, gaseous iron; the basic building blocks of a habitable planet. A hundred miles above the surface, the mighty vessel Iluvátar orbited and controlled its metal feelers. Melkor sighed; his breath caught the forcefield serving as a window and dissipated in a series of tiny electrical cracks.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

Melkor didn't respond. Soft footsteps echoed in the long, empty observation deck as the voice moved closer.

"Surely you agree?"

"It's beautiful now," he replied, holding his gaze on the tumultuous planetoid below. "Whether it will be when we've finished doing all this to it…" he trailed off.

The voice behind him laughed softly. "I was talking about what we're doing to it."

The silence stretched on as a new satellite zipped past the window, taking up a position directly below them and adding to the bombardment of the planet's surface.

"It's impressive," Melkor conceded. "But beautiful…well, I suppose that depends upon your point of view."

Manwë let out a scoff and stood by Melkor's side. "We're transforming a ball of molten rock into a living, breathing biosphere," he exclaimed. "We're birthing a planet in less time than it took to birth you or I. It's a triumph of science."

"Some might say it's science overstepping its bounds," the delicate-featured young man retorted. "Who knows what this planet might have evolved into if we'd left it alone? Something strong, something unique, something…" He sighed. "Beautiful."

"Always you must be my conscience, brother," Manwë said gently as glinting silver arms snaked out from the hull beneath them to adjust the new satellite's position. "You know I trust your opinion on these matters more than anyone else's", he reassured him, "but these are our orders, and as such it is out of our hands."

Melkor turned to face his half-brother, the dull blue light of the forcefield casting half his face in a sickly glow and the other half wreathed in the shadows of the unlit room. Despite sharing a father, their differences in countenance were striking; one small and dark-haired, with the gentle features of a youth and bright eyes of a child, and the other tall, broad and golden-headed, with an easy smile and dusky skin.

"I did bring my misgivings up with the Captain," he muttered, casting his eyes downward awkwardly.

"And he told you to mind your own business," Manwë finished for him. He sighed and shook his head. "Melkor, you're a good commander but Eru has experience. Plus, there's no-one on this ship who's even half as talented an engineer as you. You need to get over it."

Melkor swallowed hard. He wasn't used to being told 'no'; his competence and charm usually won people over instantly. But being passed over for command of the Iluvátar had been a gutting blow.

"It's a rogue planet," he protested. "It's too small, the gravity's too high, it's practically just a ball of magma right now; it's a waste of resources," he grumbled. "I told him outright, we could terraform four developed planets for the raw materials he wants us to pump into this one," he continued, becoming more and more animated, "but he said it wasn't my decision to make! I'm the Chief of Engineering on this project, who does he think he is to just ignore me?"

"He's the captain," Manwë said, placing a tender hand on Melkor's shoulder, "and he makes the rules. I have to jump just as high for him as you." A volcanic eruption below them ripped a seam of livid red open on the planet's crust, the ejecta slamming into the forcefield and crackling into nothingness in a bright white glow. Satellites caught in its path exploded in a maelstrom of arcing lightning. Manwë squinted into the light. "You should probably get back down to engineering," he said. "They're going to want help with that."

Melkor smiled thinly and turned to walk away. "Melkor!" His half-brother called after him with a grin. "Tell you what; next planet we reach, I'll ask if you can decide what we do with it!"

The engineer laughed mirthlessly and stepped into the shuttle, his face falling into a frown as soon as he was alone.

"Engineering," he growled.

The shuttle zipped off immediately at tremendous speed, only slowing when it reached the transport hub at the centre of the ship. It was here where Melkor was reminded of the sheer scale of the vessel. Six miles from tip to tail, half a mile high and a mile wide, it was more a floating city than a ship; a quarter of a million of the Ainur's finest minds and workers now called this their home until the day they died, a million light-years from their home galaxy. The top and bottom and opposing walls of the transport hub were almost out of sight, and in every direction queues of floating shuttles rose, fell and inched forward as they carried their occupants from one end of the ship to the other.

"Commander Melkor!" His communicator erupted from his breast pocket. "Commander, we need you in engineering."

"On my way," Melkor replied as his shuttle lurched forward and zoomed down a connecting tunnel, bringing him in a matter of seconds to the engineering deck.

"Commander Melkor, Sir!" The chubby little lieutenant blurted as he saw the Chief step out of the shuttle, banging his hip painfully on his console as he rushed to stand to attention. The rest of the department carried on unheeding of their commander's presence, rushing from station to station and shouting to be heard over the tumult of voices as they attempted to get the volcanic eruption on the surface under control.

"Still ejecting-"

"-not our fault, the bloody geologists should've-"

"-satellites are going to melt at this rate!"

"Stand easy, Aule," Melkor replied to his second-in-command. The lieutenant returned to his seat and wiped his sweaty brow with an enormously hairy forearm. Melkor grimaced as droplets splashed over the console. "I saw the eruption, how are you coping with it?"

"Not well, Sir!" Aule shouted as he calculated new satellite trajectories in his head and input them two at a time with either hand. The huge screen above him changed to match his courses and a new wave of hysteria broke out amongst the engineering crew. "It's a Class 4, it could destroy the crust solidification specifications. Currently trying to trap as much of the ejecta as possible, re-insert it into the mantle and then use a gravity well to stitch the seam back together."

"That won't work," Melkor replied, unbuttoning the cuffs on his heavy-duty engineering one-piece and rolling up the sleeves, "the eruption's too violent. You'll lose crust integrity and with it, the planet." He pulled a console over to him and set his palm on the screen, giving him access to the override. "I'm going to seal that seam. Forget the ejecta, I'm not ordering our satellites to chase dust." His fingers flew over the keys as he rearranged the satellites, his underlings screaming in panic as their screens changed without warning.

"But Sir," Aule protested, "if we don't seal it properly we'll lose weeks having to reorder the shape of the planet, compensating for the change in wind flow and distribution of plant life - months, even!"

"If we don't seal it right now, there won't BE a planet to re-order!" Melkor shouted above the rabble. "And lieutenant, I don't know about you, but I've just spent the last five thousand years asleep - I've got time!" He committed all available satellites to the cause with a swipe of his hand and within seconds, billions of gallons of liquid nitrogen were pouring into the molten red wound on the face of the planet, sending up immeasurable clouds of smoke as the magma cooled and hardened, sealing the crack shut. Melkor let out a long sigh and pulled his long, black hair, slick with the cloud of sweat and steam that constantly pervaded the engineering deck, back from his eyes. The shouting of the crewmen eventually gave way to applause and whoops of triumph. A smile tugged at Melkor's lips; the adulation warmed him from within. He could get used to it.

"Lieutenant Aule, you have the deck," he announced, pushing the console away and heading for his office. "No doubt the Captain wants to know how we've just ruined his precious planet," he added under his breath.

* * *

Manwë stepped out of the elevator and onto the bridge. It was a dizzyingly huge room; rows of consoles on four descending tiers stretched out for yards in either direction, all facing a gigantic four-piece screen, showing a combination of all the ships' functions and the view outside. Usually it was a loud, bustling place, but now the silence stunned him. Next to a live feed of the still-smoking gash in the planet's face, Manwë groaned silently to see his half-brother. _Melkor_, he thought, _What have you done now?_

"Commander Melkor," Captain Eru barked in the silence, "your entire department was working together to try and reverse the effects of the eruption - the entire department! The best the Ainur has to offer! And you overruled them and instead left us with a newly-formed mountain range-" he paused to check his screen, "-six hundred miles long and three miles high!" Melkor rolled his eyes. "Do you have ANY explanation, Sir?"

Melkor inhaled deeply, his eyes boring into the captain's across the video link. Manwë slowly took his place behind the captain's chair, hoping his half-brother would notice him. "It would have failed, Sir." The bridge erupted into protestation and argument. "The eruption was simply too big," Melkor continued, almost shouting to be heard over the noise. "To attempt to fix a split crust of that magnitude with a gravity well would have fatally compromised the magnetic field. We wouldn't have noticed it at first, but trust me, eventually that planet would have split apart."

"Nonsense!" An officer on the bridge shouted out, his comrades hushing to let him speak. "Just before we left the galaxy they fixed an impact crater twice that size with a gravity well!" Murmurs of agreement rippled around the room.

"And has anyone been in touch with them lately?" Melkor replied sarcastically, his youthful features innocent. The officer cleared his throat and sat back down. Dissent grew around the bridge until the Captain silenced them.

"Commander Melkor, I want to see you in my office at the eighth bell, tomorrow." He sent Melkor's unimpressed face away with the vigorous jab of a button. The bridge rapidly resumed its usual business of fuss and noise and the captain turned to face his First Mate. "And I want to see you in my office now," he rumbled, pushing himself up and stalking down the row of consoles to his office at the far left of the bridge. Manwë followed in silence until the hissing of automatic doors behind him shut out the din of the bridge behind them.

"I brought your brother on board because you vouched for him," the captain began, easing himself down into his plush, high-backed chair. "I gave him the post of Chief Engineer because…?"

Manwë cleared his throat and gripped his hands behind his back. "Because I vouched for him, Sir."

"No, because he's that bloody good," the captain replied, irked. "But you know as well as I do, Manwë, that this isn't the first time he's gone off on one of his…his…"

"Fancies, Sir?" Manwë ventured.

"Ego trips!" Eru replied vehemently. "This is the third time he's overridden protocol, and I will NOT have officers who ride roughshod over our procedures, you understand?"

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Sir," Manwë said innocently, "but hasn't he been proven right each time?"

Eru regarded Manwë with a hard stare before sighing. "And what if next time he's wrong?" He said simply. "Have a word with him, if you would. You're the only one who can seem to get through to him." Manwë shifted uncomfortably. His brother's perceptiveness had been evident even from the youngest age; forever asking "Why?" or "Why not?". What started as innocent childish curiosity, however, had quickly blossomed into stubbornness and even insubordination. More than once since childhood he'd had to intervene to keep Melkor from a black eye.

"I will, Sir," Manwë agreed reluctantly. "And I'll remind him that an invitation to your office is not a request." Eru let out a snort of laughter and gestured to the door. Manwë turned on his heels and exited, making his way up the still-heaving bridge and exiting into the corridor. As he made his way to quarters he couldn't help but gaze out of the long, borderless windows; it took years to get used to a barrierless walkway teetering out into space. The entirety of the planet's southern hemisphere loomed towards him; the livid red of the molten rock and the cool blue of the forcefield melded together in parts to create brilliant patches of coruscating purple, with the glittering silver beams of the satellites flickering like will-o'-the-wisp in the distance.

"Beautiful," he breathed. "Beautiful."

* * *

"Lights."

Soft phosphorescent light bloomed into the room at Manwë's command, illuminating the spartan berth. A double-bed, wardrobe, workstation and chair were all that adorned it, each in neutral military tones. Another borderless window stretched from one end of the room to the other, showing the vast and unending vista of deep space. An aggrieved grunt issued from the bed.

"Sorry, sweetheart," Manwë apologised softly. He sidled down onto the sheets and wrapped his arm around the struggling figure beneath them. "Lights down," he announced, dimming the light. "Better?"

"Mmf", Varda assented wordlessly, wrapping her husband's arm tighter around her. "Ship okay? Planet still there?" She mumbled sleepily.

"Just about," Manwë replied, yawning. "Melkor's got it in the neck from Eru, though."

Varda's eyes crept open. The mention of Melkor's name brought a bad taste to her mouth every time. "What did he do now?" She asked, now uncomfortably awake.

"Sealed a fault line with a trillion gallons of liquid nitrogen," Manwë said, his eyelids already heavy.

"What?!" Varda blurted out, turning to face her near-comatose husband. "Is he insane? He could have rendered the crust inviable!"

"Could've but didn't," he murmured, "calm down."

Varda frowned and propped herself up on her arms, sweeping brown curls out of her face. "Calm down? This is the third time! You can't keep defending him just because he's your brother!"

"Half-brother," Manwë mumbled into a faceful of pillow.

"He keeps doing this, Manwë," Varda retorted angrily. "If he were anyone else, he'd have been court-martialled by now, and you know it."

Manwë groaned and turned onto his back. "What do you want me to do? March down to Eru's office and demand he put him in the brig?"

"That's not what I was talking about," his wife grumbled and turned away from him, bringing the covers up to her chin. "You could just…have a-"

"-a word with him?" Manwë chimed in, unsurprised. "Wouldn't you believe that's exactly what Eru told me today? I'm not my brother's keeper." Silence stretched out between them, broken only by a sigh. "I will, of course, 'have a word' with him, but if you've such a problem with his competence I suggest you take it up with him."

Varda's eyes narrowed, staring daggers out into the depths of space. Spending more than ten seconds in Melkor's company was a thought that made her skin crawl.

"He wouldn't listen to me," she replied, "he doesn't listen to anyone."

She got no response but her husband's snoring. Sighing and clutching the covers tighter to her body, she closed her eyes and forced herself to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

"_Help!"_

_She ran down the corridor, pitch-black and blaring with emergency sirens. Only the distant stars cast any light on her path, strewn with weeping and groaning men and women. Orome loomed out of a distant doorway, his mighty frame torn ragged._

"_Lost," he mumbled, "lost…"_

_She pushed past him and found only corpses - friends and loved ones, strangers and acquaintances, tossed together in death like bones after a feast. They lined every corridor, filled every room, and hung from every bulkhead. Red lights flashed and flickered, illuminating gluts of blood decorating the walls and ceiling like a slaughterhouse._

"_Ulmo!" she cried out as she spotted her friend's silhouette stumbling towards her. "No…" she gasped as he fell forward. His eyes were gone, just a pair of empty holes sunk into his dark, blood-mottled skin. He croaked a warning before tumbling down, dead._

_The dead seemed to moan at her, their twisted faces crying out for help they could not realise was now too late. She burst into a sprint, leaping over the rows of bodies under her with tears streaming from her eyes until she finally reached the bridge. She flinched to see the great screens gone, torn off by a huge rent in the hull and sucked out into space, cascading down in pieces to the planet's surface. It loomed closer and closer in her vision - a crash course._

_He sat in the Captain's chair. Bodies piled around him but two were given pride of place, metal spears driven through their bodies to hold them standing behind his throne. Varda screamed as she recognised her husband's face staring dumbly at her, his head twisted completely around._

_He rose, and with him all darkness followed. Turning and walking past his gory prizes, he stalked the aisle towards where Varda lay helpless and terrified. His features, so delicate and boyish, were now dark and terrible, like a demon in the oldest stories. His brow seemed to shine as though he were wearing a crown, with a brightness so intense she could swear she felt her flesh burning._

_He reached out to her._

"Hey! You with us?"

Varda's head slipped off her hand and sent her elbow skidding clumsily across her desk, scattering detritus onto the floor. "Sorry," she mumbled, straightening her hair and wiping drool from her chin. "Sorry," she repeated dumbly. A few heads turned briefly from the dull glow of monitors before returning to work. The Low Orbit Tech Division was hard at work trying to salvage the remnants of the satellites which had been caught in the volcanic eruption and desperately re-positioning their remaining units to keep the terraforming operation running smoothly.

Enwe laughed and collected some of the paraphernalia from the floor. "Late night?"

"Kind of," Varda replied hesitantly. "Didn't really get much sleep. Was worried about the eruption."

"Yeah, same here," Enwe replied, her dark eyes widening animatedly. "Did you hear how they fixed it?"

Varda swallowed sharply. "Yeah," she replied non-committally.

"Wasn't it amazing?" Enwe gushed. "I mean, I thought we were on the verge of losing the planet, but then Melkor comes up with that genius solution!"

"It was hardly genius," Varda scoffed, typing calculations into her workstation and sending a satellite zooming from one end of the planet to the other. "It was sheer luck he didn't break the planet in two."

"If he hadn't have done it, the planet WOULD have broken in two," her friend retorted. "I like a decisive man…a man of action," she confided with a sly smile. Varda coughed to hide an involuntary frown. "Do you…" Enwe started, trailing off as a florid blush reached her cheeks. "…never mind."

"What?" Varda asked, hands still typing but eyes askance to watch her friend's expressive face contort.

"Do you think you could introduce us?"

Varda let out a harsh bark of laughter, immediately covering her mouth with a hand as she saw Enwe's face fall into an almost parodical tragedy mask of horror. "I'm so sorry, Enwe," she apologised, taking her friend's hand in hers, "but…I really don't think he's that kind of man."

Enwe's face transformed yet again into a comical silent gasp. "You mean he's…one of Ulmo's friends?"

Varda frowned momentarily before letting another stifled laugh. The thought of Melkor having ANYTHING in common with the kind and friendly Ulmo, let alone sharing his orientation, was laughable.

"No," she explained delicately, "he's…he's not really a people person, dear." She smiled sadly and squeezed Enwe's hand as her friend tried to recover.

"Maybe he just hasn't met the right people," Enwe insisted, flicking her long black hair back over her shoulder. "I'm sure I could get him to come out of his shell."

Varda's face froze in a set smile. Enwe was going to run and run with this. But try as she might, Varda couldn't bring herself to tell her friend that Melkor wouldn't have any interest in her - not when she was clearly so invested in the idea. Let HIM do it, she thought to herself with a wry smile. I hate to hurt her, but one meeting with him in person and she'll never want to see him again.

"I'll get Manwë to talk to him," she acquiesced as Enwe almost burst with wordless delight. "He can usually convince him of just about anything. Maybe we could set up a double-date?"

"Oh yes, yes!" Enwe agreed effusively, gripping her friend's hands tightly. "There's a bar on K-deck I heard some of the Geophys guys talking about, it sounds absolutely gorgeous-" She was stopped mid flow by a buzz from her communicator, much to Varda's relief. "Oh, dammit, I'm needed in maintenance. We'll talk later, okay? Don't forget to tell Manwë!" She giggled before disappearing down a service ladder. Varda smiled mirthlessly before buying her head in her hands. _A double-date with Melkor? I'd sooner take my chances down there_, she thought as the violent red planet filled the huge screen at the end of the room.

* * *

Melkor steepled his fingers and sighed, staring intently at the floating hologram in the middle of his office. The projected planetoid turned lazily on its axis, dotted with pulsing red dots representing the flotilla of satellites at work on the surface. Rising and falling bars tracked the flow of minerals and materials from the Iluvátar to its robotic tendrils. Extra work was being undertaken to smooth down the fissure his emergency fix the day before had caused; yet another waste of time and resources, Melkor thought to himself.

His mind turned back to the conversation he had had with the Captain earlier that day. He had stood there, passive, while the Captain lectured him just as his teachers, as his parents once had; ignorant people spouting ignorant words. _Critical danger _was a common theme in his tirade, along with _responsibility of command_. His stomach had turned as Eru had patronised him; he felt sure that in a reasonable universe, he would be being praised and rewarded for his quick thinking and decisive action. And wasn't the point of a Chief Engineer to run the Engineering section the way he saw fit? If that meant overruling his subordinates - so be it. There was a reason he was in charge and they weren't.

He let out a grunt of frustration and sent the hologram away with a swipe of his hand. Sitting down heavily in his chair, he picked up a tablet and began to type out his report. His eyes began to swim as the monotony of detailing the exact amounts of materials being used to "rectify" his "mistake" got to him. His finger slipped and he misplaced a decimal point.

He stared at the error. He knew he should delete it - and yet he did not. In real terms it represented a miniscule change, easily overlooked. It would have an effect on the composition of the planet, he reasoned, but nothing catastrophic; it was his engineering department, and his call. A slow smile crept over his face as he thought of this little triumph over the Captain's ego. _Arda will be a paradise_, he recalled the old man declaiming over every screen on the ship immediately before their departure to the Spiral galaxy, _a haven of fine weather and clear skies. It will be an Ain reborn - unmarred from the strifes known by countless generations since the Uncovering._

And so, upon discovering GRG-534, wheels were set in motion to turn the molten, lifeless planetoid into a "perfect" planet; consistently good weather, perfect cloud cover and stable temperatures. Melkor had made his feelings on the matter clear; why try to make a perfect planet when Ain was never perfect to begin with? _If it was good enough for our ancestors_, he'd argued, _it's good enough for our descendants_. The hardships of chill winters, harsh summers and uninhabitable stretches of desert and swamp had been the primordial cell from which the iron will and grit of the Ainur race had evolved. A civilisation raised in luxury would become decadent, helpless, and pointless. Where was the glory there?

Melkor rose from his chair, galvanised. The power was his; the right was his. He called the hologram of the planet back up with a click of his fingers and spun it around, zooming in with precise gestures. His most pressing problem with the current design was the mountains; the tectonic plates were to be locked in a precise flow to prevent continental drift, and thus make soaring mountain ranges an impossibility. The idea was to reduce wind flow and prevent unexpected weather fronts from forming. But a planet without mountains, Melkor thought, was not worthy of the title. As a boy he had stared entranced from his bedroom window for hours at the Red Mountains of the distant Yeren Pass, longing to one day climb them and see the curvature of Ain itself. He never did get to climb them; but that wouldn't stop the Ainur of Arda. Picking his satellites carefully, he altered the trajectory of each by a miniscule amount; just enough to set them on a totally different course and create entirely different tectonic plates, but so subtly and slowly that it wouldn't be discovered for millennia, or even eons.

He ran the projection. His eyes widened and his mouth curved into a grin as, with centuries flying by in seconds, he saw great mountain ranges snake up and down the spines of the twin continents, curving and curling off into smaller hilly ridges, creating bays and peaks, troughs and cliffs. Melkor let out a short laugh and clapped his hands to his face. This, _this_ was beautiful.

* * *

"You're sure you told him we'd be inside?" Enwe asked for the third time. Manwë surreptitiously checked his watch.

"Oh, definitely," he replied, keeping an eye on the door. Varda looked down awkwardly and took another large gulp of wine. Enwe's nervousness had gone from sweet to irritating and, by now, was almost embarrassing.

Smart, attractive couples milled around the booth they were sitting in, chattering inaudibly and clinking glasses of fizzing cocktails. The mood lighting cast glittering shadows over the party, a singular island of gloom and awkwardness in a sea of frivolity. Melkor was now half an hour late. Manwë had stressed the importance of his turning up on time, but secretly knew it would have fallen on deaf ears. Melkor came and went as he pleased; he only agreed to the event at all by accepting it as a personal favour to his brother.

"He's probably got sidetracked down in Engineering," Varda ventured, "you know how busy it is down there at the moment."

"Yes," Enwe sighed, nervously sipping a glass of sparkling wine, "I suppose." She was beautifully-appointed in a shimmering black-and-purple scaled dress, her long black hair worked into a single thick plait that wrapped itself over her shoulder. Varda's heart had sunk at the sight of her looking so beautiful; so much effort, for a night doomed to be a disaster.

"How's maintenance going?" Manwë asked over the noise of a cheer from the bar.

"Oh," Enwe replied, her eyes fixed on the door, "not too bad. We were able to salvage most of the satellites; they look a lot worse than they are. But a funny thing happened today, actually, I got a requisition from Engineering - turns out that they want the lot. Every damaged satellite, they want to see if they can upgrade them or some-"

Enwe's breath caught in her throat and expressive eyes widened so far Varda feared they'd fall out. There was no mistaking what had caused that reaction. Before she could turn her head to the door Melkor had already joined them, seating himself gracefully next to Enwe in their circular booth.

"Good evening, everyone, sorry I'm late," he apologised with an unctuous smile. "It's pandemonium below decks. The crust is scheduled to harden completely in the next 48 hours, so I'm not sure I should be here at all," he said, flashing a roguish look at Enwe, who visibly rose three inches. "How are we?"

"Well, fine now you're here!" Manwë replied boisterously, resting a hand on his brother's. "We were going to send out a search party!" He signaled a waiter with a finger. "Another round? Melkor, what will you have?"

"Just water, please," he replied. "Enwe, Varda," he addressed the women as Manwë relayed the order to the waiter, "I must say…you look beautiful tonight." His ice-blue eyes glittered with the reflection of the stars in the mirrored columns around them. Enwe failed to supress a girlish giggle, while Varda eyed him suspiciously. Compared to rest of them, he'd come plainly-dressed; a matte black one-piece suit with a stole of metal grey, descending into a short cape. Given that she'd half-expected him to turn up in his work overalls, however, this was a pleasant surprise.

"Thank you, Melkor," she replied, reservedly. He seemed ingenuous, but she'd learned all too keenly that Melkor's greatest talent lay in making you believe whatever he wanted you to.

"I'd just like to say-" Enwe blurted out entirely too loudly, her excitement almost unchecked, "I'd…just like to say that, I think the way you fixed that seam was brilliant." Her upper body bent towards Melkor, who very subtly inched away. "I think you saved the entire planet. Really, I do. It was a stroke of genius."

Melkor's stiffness at Enwe's proximity to him relaxed a little and the corner of his mouth tugged itself upward. "Well," he replied, slowly turning to face her, "at least someone thinks so." His face split into a wide grin and Enwe was lost in giggles again.

The night rapidly took off, with round after round being delivered to their table, and Enwe's praise of Melkor visibly ingratiating herself to him. Manwë turned to his wife during another of Melkor and Enwe's protracted discussions on particle physics and whispered, _I think this might be the best idea you've ever had_. Varda scoffed and drained her glass. Manwë always saw the best in his brother.

"Oh, I love this song!" Enwe announced as the track changed, getting to her feet uneasily. "Melkor, will you dance with me?"

Melkor's face dropped into a rictus of horror, his eyes locking with his brother's. "No," Manwë boomed, "dance. Go. That's an order." Enwe locked her arm around Melkor's, dragged him to his feet and out onto the dancefloor. "Oh, this should be fun," he chuckled, wrapping his arm around his wife's waist and pulling her tight to him as Melkor glanced back pleadingly, like a lamb at the gates of the abattoir. "They seem to be getting on…very well indeed," he laughed, light-headed with wine.

"Yes, they do," Varda replied evasively. Her husband stifled a guffaw with his free hand as Melkor attempted to dance; a disjointed, stilted combination of thrusts and waves which more closely resembled a very leisurely seizure.

"God almighty, look at him go!" Manwë wheezed, his broad shoulders heaving with laughter and buffeting Varda uncomfortably. "I've seen better moves from a stroke victim!" Enwe, seemingly blind to Melkor's faults, lit up with smiles and brought her body in close to him, snaking a slender arm around his back and taking his hand with the other, guiding his steps.

"Why do you care so much about him?" Varda asked, unable to contain the question any longer.

"What?" Manwë replied, still laughing. "Because he's my brother," he said simply, wiping tears from his eyes.

"No, I mean," Varda interjected, biting her lip to consider her words, "Even knowing what he's like…what he's capable of, what he's…done," she said, her voice faltering, "you care for his happiness more than anyone else's. Why?" Her eyes glistened, a flash of steel. "Do you still feel guilty?"

Manwë sighed and ran his tongue over his teeth. "That's not true," he replied softly. "I care for your happiness more than anything else." Varda smiled slowly as her husband's eyes met her own. "And I care about him so much because…" he trailed off, exhaling loudly. "Because I have to believe that a man as great as him, can also be good." Varda's smile slowly dropped as she saw the sadness in her beloved's eyes. She felt petty and vindictive. She looked back to Enwe and Melkor, dancing under twirling light; who was she, after all, to say he couldn't have changed?

Enwe leaned in towards Melkor's cheek and dashed off, leaving him alone on the emptying dancefloor, light from the mirrored columns blinding him. He raised an awkward hand to his brother and sister-in-law, and turned to walk back.

Varda's heart almost stopped. For a split-second, there he stood, advancing on her, clad in black, his brow seeming to shine with glittering starlight. She saw bodies shimmer into view and disappear as soon as they were there. She gripped her husband's hand tightly as her throat seemed to close up.

"What's wrong, darling?" Manwë mumbled as Melkor took his place back at the table, his youthful features placid and inquisitive.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," he agreed.

Varda swallowed hard. "I just…think I've had a little too much," she lied with a brittle smile. "Think it's time I got going."

"Yes," Manwë agreed, getting to his feet and stretching, "we do all have jobs to go to in the morning, after all." Varda clutched his hand tightly and held herself close to his side. Enwe returned to the table and pouted animatedly.

"Oh, you're going?" She whined.

"I should get going too," Melkor interrupted, standing and crossing to Enwe's side. "Those satellites won't upgrade themselves, after all." He took her hand, lifted it to his lips and kissed it in a single fluid motion. "I had a wonderful evening, Enwe."

Varda's hand shot out as Enwe's eyes rolled back into her head and she recovered well from what was almost a swoon. "So did I," she managed, breathily. The four of them walked together to the shuttles, Enwe departing first, followed by Melkor.

"Are you okay?" Manwë asked in his knowing tone. Varda breathed deeply, holding onto her husband's arm as though she were about to fall.

"No," she blurted, "No, I'm not."


	3. Chapter 3

"Varda, what's the problem?"

Varda's gaze out of the window was broken by the sound of Nienna's soft, warm voice. She shook her head in apology and swallowed.

"I can tell you're troubled. It's my job," she continued. Varda smiled sadly.

"It's more a…question, than anything," she said, playing with a loose curl. The counselor inclined her head. "You-" she stopped, frowning. She struggled with how to phrase the question. "You're Touched, right?"

"Correct," Nienna replied patiently. Varda nodded and curled the lock of hair tight around her finger.

"When did you-how did you…know?" Varda asked.

Nienna tucked a foot under her knee and resettled herself in her seat. "The Gift reveals itself very early," she explained. "I can't remember a time in my life when I DIDN'T hear other people's thoughts. I was able to share dream-states before I reached puberty."

"So…it's not very likely it would present in an adult?" Varda ventured.

"No," the counselor replied with a smile. "It's something you're born with, it doesn't develop. What's this really about, Varda?" She asked kindly.

Varda sighed and put a hand to her forehead. "I've been having dreams…nightmares, really. Really…really bad nightmares." Nienna nodded sympathetically and tapped at her tablet. "But they feel so much…_more_ than that. They feel like it's something that's going to happen."

"Traumatic dreams can leave a feeling of helplessness which some interpret as inevitability; even prophecy," Nienna interjected. "But believe me, true prophecy is a much, much more intense experience than even the most horrible nightmare."

"But-" Varda blurted before checking herself.

"No, go on," Nienna encouraged her, "what were you going to say?"

Varda sighed, feeling strangely guilty, as though she had been caught lying. "I had the same nightmare while wide awake," she said, "yesterday evening."

Nienna frowned imperceptibly and brought her other foot up beneath the opposite knee to sit cross-legged on the armchair. "When you say you had a nightmare while awake," she began, tapping again at her tablet, "what do you mean?"

"I mean, it was like the world kind of…shifted, like I was seeing a different version," she explained. "Something happened which reminded me of it," she spoke slowly and deliberately, trying to stick to the barest facts, "and it was like the nightmare…became real," she said with a shudder.

"Just like real-world traumatic experiences, traumatic dreams can have an after-effect," Nienna spoke at length after typing more. "Whether real or not, what the mind remember is the fear; things that remind you of that fear trigger it. I think if you got to the root of that fear, it would dispel the hold it has on you."

Varda retreated inside herself. She'd known it was coming; of course it was, but she still wasn't ready to face up to it.

"I don't have to be a mind-reader to know that's not a subject you're comfortable talking about," Nienna added softly. "It's okay, therapy is about gradual healing, not-"

"This is _not_ therapy! _I DO NOT NEED THERAPY!__"_ Varda screamed, her eyes blazing into Nienna's soft, unchanging gaze. The placid serenity of the counsellor's big, dark eyes, framed against her dusky brown skin, sent Varda's anger collapsing in on itself. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed. Nienna rose from her chair and put and arm around Varda's shoulders, perching herself on the arm of her seat and stroking her hair as she cried.

"It's Melkor, isn't it?" she whispered, too low for the recording equipment to hear. With all psychometric appointments strictly scrutinised for signs of deteriorating mental faculties, openly breaching patient confidentiality would not have been a wise move. Varda nodded against Nienna's torso, sniffling loudly. "I really think you should tell me what happened between you," she added, even lower than before.

Varda sniffed long and noisily. "Okay," she sighed, wiping her eyes as Nienna retook her seat across from her.

"In your own time," the counselor announced deliberately loudly, resuming typing on her tablet.

* * *

Melkor stood alone in his office, a circular room suspended above the sprawling factory floor which was Engineering. With his forehead against the two-way glass that lined the room, he watched intently as his department worked. The complex interplay of actions and consequences rose and fell like music in his mind; his underlings worked together like a production line, as synchronised as an engine. It was beautiful, in a way. Each of them applied themselves fully to their task; whether regulating heat levels, calculating strata compositions or collecting mantle flow feedback, his workers were single-minded in their devotion. Although unheeding of the ultimate result, they could be satisfied that their own contribution had been flawless. Only the hub of wheel witnesses the revolution.

Turning back to the floating hologram in the middle of the office, he studied the numbers glowing softly on the planet's face. Ore deposit densities. The numbers had a poetry to them, rising and falling in set patterns across the continents. Melkor scoffed. It was part of Eru's plan to ensure key materials were available everywhere and at the minimum of effort, to prevent the resource conflicts which had nearly torn Ain apart in ancient history. _Share-and-share-alike_, Melkor thought with distaste; _a solution which only works for squabbling children._ A truly mature society would either accept chance and learn to be content, or demand a fair share on their own terms.

The more he considered the situation, the angrier he became; even from a geological standpoint, it made no sense. Such a regular pattern of ore dispersal would lead to unforeseeable problems in the far future as erosion and population expansion took place - had the captain truly abandoned foresight for dogma? Unbidden, Manwe's voice burst into his head: _He's the captain, and he makes the rules. _"Oh, shut up!" Melkor hissed to himself, pacing around the hologram. "His job begins and ends with picking a planet and waking us up, he doesn't have the slightest authority to influence _my _department in matters of science!"

A gentle cough from behind him woke him from his reverie, sending him spinning dizzily around. Enwe stood awkwardly in the open doorway, waving. "Is this a bad time?" she asked sweetly.

Melkor stood dumbly, pushing his straggly hair back as he searched for words. "No," he blurted, "not at all, come in." He dismissed the hologram with a wave of his hand and sat on his desk. "How can I help?"

"I'm just here to collect your mark for the satellites," she explained quickly, pulling a small tablet from her back pocket. "They're all down there right now, just waiting for your authorisation."

Melkor paused before getting to his feet and pressing his thumb to the tablet in silence. "Thank you," he said at length, turning to watch the battered and burned hulks of metal being floated onto the shop floor on gravity scows. "You didn't have to come all the way down here, you know," he said, studying Enwe's reflection in the glass. "It's a long way, and I'm sure you have more pressing duties right now with the crust almost hardened."

Enwe's mouth opened and closed mutely before she found her voice. "I just wanted to give it the personal touch," she said with a giggle. "I thought, you must have some important plan for them if you'd request so many of them." She clasped her hands behind her back, cheeks flushed. Melkor's eyes narrowed as he examined her posture, scrutinising her.

"It's a new kind of heat-shielding I've been developing," he announced, turning and advancing on her, "I thought it best to use decommissioned stock to test it. I wouldn't want to lose you any more," he said with the wide, charming grin he had noticed worked especially well on her.

Enwe laughed gently, showing large, white teeth. She swallowed hard and muttered, "I-I also wanted…well,really, I was hoping, that-that, that you'd-" she screwed her eyes shut and inhaled deeply as Melkor took a very tentative step backward, "I wondered whether you'd join me for dinner," she said, enunciating each word deliberately, like a stutterer attacking a tongue-twister. She opened her eyes and froze to see Melkor's shell-shocked reaction.

He blinked rapidly as Enwe's overly-rouged cheeks dropped into a look of sheer terror. "I'd love to," he squeaked before breaking into a throaty cough. "I, I'd really like that." Her face instantly rebounded into an open-mouthed rictus grin, bringing her fingertips up to her lips.

"Great!" she enthused. "There's a place on Obs Deck 5, I'll meet you there at seventh bell?"

Melkor ran a hand through his hair and gulped. "Sure, Aule can watch over the satellite upgrade," he thought aloud. Enwe let out an ear-splitting giggle.

"I can't wait! See you there!" She bade him farewell before disappearing down the ladder to the gangway below. Melkor let out the breath he'd been holding for what seemed like an age and trudged slowly to his chair, sitting down heavily. Last night had taken a lot of mental preparation, and that was with a day's notice and his brother at his side. But dinner with someone he hardly knew with just a few hours to spare? Terraforming a planet was easy street, compared.

Slowly the panic subsided as the cold part of his mind, always such a help in protecting him from the frailties of himself and others, rose to the fore and reminded him: _she has something you want_. This was not a "date", as no doubt his brother would term it; this was a chance for him to secure an investment. The end he foresaw permitted any means.

* * *

"I've known Melkor and Manwe since we were children," Varda began, wiping her eye with the back of her hand. "Their father had estates in Ain Country, before the Blight. My family were tenants there. Dad was an engineer, he helped maintain the fission columns. Most of their land sat on a beryllium seam; it's how they made their money. Melkor and I - Manwe was older than us, he was always out with boys his own age, doing whatever it is they do - we would sit with my father while he worked. He was always asking question," she reminisced, her eyes staring out to a past long-gone and far away. "Dad would tell us, in the simplest terms, why he did what he did and how it all worked, but Melkor…" she paused and let out a soft, sad laugh. "He grew out of it so quickly. By the time we were ten he was asking questions my dad couldn't answer. I remember once I overheard him telling my mother, _If the gaffer ever hears his kid talk the way he does to me, he'll have my job the next day._"

Nienna smiled good-naturedly. "You remained friends into your teenage years, then?" she asked.

Varda cleared her throat. "Yes…we became quite close, Melkor and I. We were both interested in science, so most of our conversations were about it. I have to admit though," she sighed, "he lost me past the age of…sixteen, or so. He was talking in concepts I couldn't even imagine. I…I loved that about him. Even though I couldn't keep up past the first five seconds when he'd go off on one of his theories…it impressed me."

"Is that when your relationship started?" Nienna asked.

Varda swallowed as her stomach turned. "No," she replied hoarsely, "no, our relationship didn't begin until we were much older. At seventeen we both went off to Academy; I went to the Space Technology Institute, he went to the Curia…naturally, being the son of one of the richest men on Ain, and a genius to boot," she added somewhat bitterly. "We only saw each other a couple of times during those seven years. The Blight happened in our fifth year of study," she explained. Nienna nodded sombrely. "Melkor and Manwe's father…" she coughed, not needing to say any more. "They came back for the funeral, it was the only time I really spoke to them both before we graduated. I say spoke," she scoffed, "I don't think Melkor said a word to anyone beyond 'hello' and 'goodbye'. Even with me it felt like he was talking straight through me. I just-" she stopped again to cover her eyes with the heels of her hands. "I just wanted to help him. I wanted to hold him and let him know he wasn't alone, but…he just wouldn't be touched."

"We react to bereavement in many different ways," Nienna said, "with someone as single-minded and high-functioning as Melkor, it's not surprising that he would react badly to physical contact - he was probably trying to think his way around the situation, whether he was aware of it or not."

Varda rolled her eyes, "Yeah, well," she sighed. "I didn't see him again until we had graduated. The brothers came back to reclaim their father's estate, but…there was nothing left, really. The taxmen had taken ownership of most of the beryllium mining operation to cover the death dues and back-dated land taxes he owed; they didn't get much of an inheritance. It's why I never wonder why they're here," she mumbled awkwardly. It was the only truly taboo subject amongst the crew of the Iluvátar; what had led them to taking a one-way drip into deep space. Nienna, however, ignored whatever implications may have hung around the statement.

"So, this is the start of the relationship, I take it?" She inquired.

Varda nodded. "Not long after the boys came home, my father took ill. Rock-lung, they called it in the trade; inhaling beryllium fumes. There was nothing they could do. He was gone within months." She sniffed and shuddered violently, taking a while to compose herself. "Manwe told me at the funeral to come live in the house with them; _It's the least we can do_, he said. So, I took one of the rooms…that's how me and Melkor got talking again. It was just like old times," Varda remembered, the faintest traces of a smile playing on her lips. "Only now, I could keep up with him. We talked for hours and hours about physics and engineering, and I think I learned more in those first few months than I did in seven years at Academy. It was only natural…that…" She trailed off again, clearing her throat. "He had never…had anyone. It was all alien to him. The things I had to teach him about basic interaction," she laughed, "it was as though he was still a child. He _was _still a child," she repeated, chewing her knuckles and lapsing into silence. It dragged on for several seconds, Nienna waiting patiently, before she resumed.

"It started with his tantrums," she continued, her voice beginning to break. "Whenever anything…went wrong, or upset him, he would fly into these rages. I've never seen anything like it. Imagine a five-year-old's worst temper fit, and scale it up to a 25-year-old man…a 25-year-old man who knows your worst fears, who knows exactly how to hurt you. He'd say-" she coughed and sniffed messily, "awful, awful things, all to hurt me. To take out his frustration on me. And I…I _loved _him, so much, that I just wanted to make him better - I just wanted to let him get it all out and wait till he'd become all nice and docile again, and then I could hold him, I could…" Varda collapsed into a protracted sob. Nienna rushed to her feet and cradled her, stroking her hair.

"It's alright. You don't have to say any more if you don't want to," she whispered into her friend's ear as she rocked back and forth in her arms. They clung together for what seemed like hours as Varda's sobs slowly faded into slow, breathy moans.

"And now my best friend has a thing for him," she sighed, her voice cracked with emotion. "We all went out last night and I thought he'd bore her or creep her out so much she'd lose interest, but he just smiled that…that fucking _smile_ of his, and she was all over him…and I'm just terrified that he's going to hurt her just the way he hurt me."

"Varda," Nienna addressed her, taking a knee and stroking her shoulders, "what was your nightmare about? Specifically?"

Varda sniffed again. "The ship was dead. Everyone was dead. Melkor did it," she said between sobs.

"I think it's been brought on by being in proximity to him again. I think some subconscious part of your brain knows that it's not like being back on Ain, where you could run away to the Northern Desert if you wanted to - you can't…_escape_ from him, here. On a ship, you can't run away from your problems, and they can't run away from you. Unless you confront this situation, your mental state is going to deterioriate." Varda nodded sadly. "I think we should continue to see each other regularly, okay?" Nienna said softly, squeezing the top of Varda's arm. "And I think you should let your friend know what she is getting into. He may well have changed in all that time, but-"

"-But don't let her take the chance," Varda finished for her. Nienna nodded slowly.

* * *

_Bauxite - 5.6 million units_

_Haematite - 4.3 million units_

_Ferberite - 1.1 million units_

_Cerussite - 0.34 million units_

The calculations were perfect. They would fill a thousand-mile stretch of the eastern continent with enough raw metal to feed a thousand furnaces for a thousand years, at the minimum of expense and next to no effort.

It wasn't good enough.

Melkor turned the holographic dial projecting from his tablet with a twirling finger, running his tongue along his teeth as the distribution pattern shifted north. One degree of latitude, two, three; the results were absorbing. He watched as icy tundra began to form on the slopes as their minerals were pushed further north, the lush coniferous forest never having a chance to root in the thin, poor soil such dead earth would engender. But what riches he was leaving for those brave enough to cross those wastes; a mountain range capped with snowy peaks of awesome majesty, running with mighty rivers of iron and lead.

Five degrees north. That was all it took. His hand hovered over the button to turn his concept into an order, his order into a reality. Furrowing his brow, he made it so. _Not bad for a day's work_, he thought to himself.

And now, he had an appointment to keep.


	4. Chapter 4

Aule examined his options. His situation wasn't good. Despite his best-laid plans, events had transpired which forced him into a very tight spot indeed. He could retreat - of course he could. Just say, "Not my problem, guv" - and leave one of his comrades to take the fall. Or he could even kick it upstairs - but the boss would NOT take that kindly. The man had total control over him, and he could put him in an even stickier mess than he was already in.

He gulped. He could feel their eyes around him, burning the question into him - _What are you going to do? _They'd get impatient soon. Then the fun would _really _begin.

There was nothing else for it - he had to press on ahead. Clearing his throat and wiping his dry mouth, he said, "Fire."

All eyes turned to the brooding, shadowy figure at the end of the table, awaiting his judgement. He drew it out, leaving them hanging.

A dark, gnarled hand flung forward, casting the dice out onto the table.

_Five…_

…_Two._

"Odd number, you miss!"

The table erupted into life as Aule covered his face in misery. "Why didn't you play your distraction macro?" Came an exasperated voice from opposite him. "How do you miss _seven times?!_" Came another.

"The Demon Lord-" Ulmo declaimed over the group, his rich, theatrical voice commanding immediate attention, "withstands the full force of Aule Iron-Arm's attack with no more ill effect than a slight limp," he said with relish as the rest of the participants laughed. "He raises his mighty hammer and crushes him, before trampling the remains underfoot!" A low moan of pity washed around the table. "With the rest of your party dead, the last chance for good to reign in Erlden has perished - the Demon Lord is triumphant!"

"Again," deadpanned Tulkas, opening another bottle of beer with a vice-like fist.

"Darling, if you want to DM the next one, you're more than welcome," Ulmo retorted, "but I can't see many of staying awake through three hundred rounds of _Tabletop Darts-and-Farting."_

"I can't see many of us staying alive through that," Nessa quipped, letting out a throaty laugh as Tulkas spat a mouthful of beer down his bushy beard. Conversation flowed with the wine as Ulmo collected up the paraphernalia; Tulkas and Nessa sparring in the way they'd perfected over the last ten years with Ulmo interjecting with ever-more-questionable innuendos, Aule and his wife Yavanna quietly doting on one another over a shared glass of red. The five of them had been friends from practically the moment they'd joined the Corps; when the Iluvátar Expedition came around, the decision to apply was unanimous. Each of them offered silent thanks, in the deadest black of deep space where no-one could hear, that they left nothing behind on Ain to regret - their world was the one around them, made of their friendship.

"Iron-Arm," Ulmo called out over the table, "how's life in the underworld?"

"Oh, can't complain," he replied, "I've been trying to train up this lad below me - Mairon - he's bloody clever, but he doesn't half know it. More interested in what people think than results. So, expect him to be an officer within the month," he said cynically, to a round of laughter. "We're not really making as much progress as I'd like, to be honest - Melkor's got us retrofitting all the satellites, some kind of new heat-dampening filament he wants to install, so they don't blow up like they did in that eruption the other day. I mean, I know it's got to be done, but it just feels like we're swinging the lead, to be honest." The company nodded together.

"Does he _ever_ stop working?" Yavanna asked her husband. "How many times have we invited him to dinner, and he's always working on something, or waiting for a delivery, or trying to stop something from blowing up-"

"He's weird," Tulkas announced with trademark bluntness before belching. "Skinny pasty-faced little gimp."

"Ah, he's alright," Aule reproached them both. "Some people are just like that, they prefer work to play."

"Or maybe for them, work _is _play!" Ulmo chimed in, pleased with himself. The table murmured loudly and stroked non-existent beards - or in Tulkas' case, an existent beard - in mock erudition.

"I'll tell you what, though, I'll tell you what," Nessa slurred, leaning into the table smugly, "I know for a FACT that for the last couple of days, he's been spending quite a lot of his free time with a certain female crew member who will remain nameless."

"How'd you know that?" Tulkas blustered.

Nessa shrugged. "One of the privileges of working in Surveillance!" She crowed.

"Hang on," Aule interrupted, "one of the lieutenants from Low Orbit Tech came over a couple of days ago with those satellites, she spent a good long while up in his office…"

"Low Orbit Tech?" Ulmo repeated. Aule nodded. "What did she look like?"

"Pretty," Aule replied immediately, ignoring his wife's pointedly raised eyebrow. "Lots of very long black hair. Smiled too much for a techie," he chuckled, before realisation dawned on him, just as it had on Ulmo, who had closed his eyes in horror. "Oh God, it was Enwe!"

Tulkas' booming laugh overpowered all conversation as the table all joined the fray at once. Enwe's one-time pursuit of Ulmo - and blindness to the futility of her task - had given the group no shortage of laughs, most of them at his expense. "What is it with that woman and men who would have no interest in her?" Nessa wondered out loud.

"The inside of her head," Ulmo said, shaking his head, "must be terrifying."

"It's the inside of Melkor's head I'm worried about," Tulkas growled.

* * *

Manwe and Melkor sat alone together in the officers' mess. The eastern edge of Arda - as it was now unconsciously being called by most of the crew - loomed out of the full-length window to their side, as though intruding on their conversation. Melkor sat poker-straight, barely touching his soup as he watched his brother shovel meat and vegetables into his mouth with barely a pause for breath.

"It's not going anywhere, you know," he muttered drily as he broke a crust of bread.

"You want to get some of this in you," Manwe replied through a mouthful of food, chewing noisily. "You've never been anything but skin and bones."

"Heavy food slows me down," Melkor sniffed as he sipped at his soup. "Makes you tired, slows the brain. I've got to be constantly firing all cylinders, you know, in this job. Always alert, always ready, just waiting for the next thing to go wrong. I suppose that's not a problem you have," he muttered _sotto voce_.

"Hey!" Manwe protested, "I've got just as much responsibility as you! More, actually, being First Mate!"

"Oh, yes," Melkor retorted, dipping his bread into his soup, "and what is it the First Mate spends most of his day doing? Standing outside the Captain's office, hoping to hear a cough?"

Manwe's eyes narrowed momentarily before he burst into a peal of laughter. Melkor smiled slowly, stirring his soup absent-mindedly. "So," Manwe said slowly as he cleared his plate, "how did it go with Enwe?"

"How did what go?" Melkor replied innocently, stuffing a bread roll into his mouth.

"You know what I mean," said Manwe conspiratorially, leaning forward. "Varda told me all about how she's been seeing you."

The brothers' eyes locked. Melkor swallowed slowly. "We've met for dinner a couple of nights this week," he mumbled, staring down into his bowl.

"Good!" Manwe boomed. "It'll be good for you, getting out of the underworld once in a while, meeting new people." Melkor smiled thinly, eating his soup in silence. "Have you two…?"

The silence stretched on for several seconds before Melkor met his brother's piercing gaze, eyebrows waggling. He cleared his throat, embarrassed. "No, we haven't", he croaked.

"Taking it slow, eh?" Manwe said knowingly. "Good idea. She seems a good girl. Quite…intense, but she's sharp as a tack and sweet as a button."

"Look," Melkor started, dropping his spoon with a clang, "I'm not like you. Okay? I'm not…I'm no good at this whole thing. I'm not sure what I should be feeling, or how I should be feeling it. I don't even know what she's getting out of me turning up and eating food with her every other day, talking about work…" He clapped a hand to his face and sighed. "I just don't see how it's making her happy," he finished, returning to his food.

"She's taken a shine to you," Manwe explained with a shrug. "No-one knows why the heart wants what it wants. But the bottom line is, she wants to make you happy. You want my advice? Let her." Melkor sighed and said nothing. "When are you seeing her next?"

"Tomorrow night," he replied, sounding tired. "We're going to the theatre."

"Well," said Manwe, pushing his empty plate aside and stretching, "I recommend you make up your mind over what you want out of this relationship before then. No-one would blame you for deciding it's not what you want at this stage, but if you leave it too late…you'll only be hurting her. You've a good brain in here," he said, gripping his brother's head in a huge, strong hand, "apply it!"

Melkor twisted out of his brother's grasp, batting his hand away playfully. "I think this is one problem where even I'm stuck," he sighed as Arda filled the window entirely, bathing the two of them in its dull orange glow.

* * *

"So, how have you been since we last saw each other?"

Nienna was sitting cross-legged and barefoot on her armchair as usual. She eschewed the ubiquitous one-piece garment of the Iluvátar's crew in favour of a long, billowing skirt which brushed the tips of her toes, and a thin muslin blouse with sleeves that reached her knuckles and trailed down to her knees. With her dark and curly hair, creamy brown skin, and eyes of the deepest black, in another age, Varda thought, she would have been a sorceress or a druidess.

"Better," Varda lied. She attempted a smile, which faltered in the glare of Nienna's knowing gaze.

"Have you been having the same dream?" Nienna asked, already knowing the answer. Varda nodded.

"It's been getting worse," she said. "I remember more and more of it every time, and it's just…horrible."

"Have you had any contact with Melkor since?"

"No," Varda replied, "but my friend has been seeing him more."

"Did you tell her about your experience with him?"

Varda shook her head. "I just can't bring myself to. I don't want to have to…relive that."

Nienna tapped at her tablet. "Then let's talk about that. Let's have you face up to it so that you can talk to her about it. Do you agree?"

Varda nodded. "Okay," she whispered.

"How would you describe the nature of your relationship with Melkor?" Nienna began.

Varda sighed long and loud, leaving silence hanging between the two for a protracted period. "One-sided", she said at length. "Totally one-sided. It was as if I lived to make him happy, nothing else. And when I didn't make him happy, he…he would get angry."

"These would be the 'tantrums' we discussed in our last session?" Nienna probed.

"Yes," Varda replied softly. "At first it was just when he got rejected for teaching posts, or refused grants, or other things that endangered his career…but soon, it became everything. Not being able to balance an equation. Breaking his soldering iron. Any minor problem and he'd blow up at me; tell me it was my fault, expect me to fix it. I just…I just let him, I just rolled over and agreed because I wanted him to be happy."

Nienna nodded sympathetically and continued to type. "Was he ever violent with you? Physically?"

"Oh, no," Varda replied immediately, "never. I mean," she scoffed, "look at him, he'd do more damage to himself. He'd just shout…get inside my head. He's so good at that; he could convince you black was white. He made me feel…" Varda choked back a sob. "He made me feel like I was worthless. Nothing. I don't even remember at what point I stopped loving him and just started being scared of him," she said, her voice cracking with emotion.

"How long did this go on for?" Nienna asked once Varda had become still and calm once more.

"Two years," she replied, "practically our entire relationship."

"And do you think his relationship with your friend would follow the same pattern?"

Varda fell silent, thinking. "I don't know," she admitted. "It's been a long time, he went away, he travelled…I don't know if he met other women while he was gone, but he certainly never mentioned them to Manwe if he did. He's still just as awkward and antisocial as he ever was, but a part of me wants to think that he matured in those years away; that he learned how to be less angry. But sometimes I look at him," she continued, her lips curling in disgust, "and I catch him with that same look on his face; like he's studying you. Like a snake, watching you, waiting. Like you're an insect."

* * *

The Engineering crew were hard at work on the satellites, swapping out overloaded relays, replacing compromised hull plating, inserting new hardware. Melkor's overhaul of the satellites had been far-reaching and demanding, changing the entire outer skin from a gold-aluminium alloy to a carbon-tungsten blend, reordering the inner working to protect the sensitive electronics from radiation emanating from the forcefield, and an unassuming little box to be attached to the central CPU. Melkor had been keen to bore to tears anyone who showed even the slightest interest in it; it was a course-correcting servo, automatically updating the satellite with its neighbours' movements and adjusting its actions appropriately. It would free up dozens of man-hours per day, he enthused, spent pointlessly re-ordering satellites manually. Most people who didn't have a deep understanding of and interest in low-orbit technology and terraforming - which was nearly everyone - smiled politely and waited for him to breathe to excuse themselves.

Which is how he could sneak the override into the satellites under everyone's noses.

Locking the door to his office from the desk, Melkor pulled his console screen towards him and activated the override command screen. _SHOW ACTIVE UNITS_, he typed into the command line. Immediately a 3-dimensional plan of the engineering section appeared on his screen, with a dozen pulsing red dots in a line in the middle of the factory floor. Melkor grinned slowly. _SHOW CORE FUNCTIONS_, he continued. A list of raw materials, basic specifications and simple commands opened in a floating window. He let out a slow, shaky breath. It was working perfectly.

_UPLOAD CORE FUNCTION FILE._

_Z:Z:Z:ADF-C/D:F-CHAOS-FF_

_APPLY ALL_

_END_

Melkor dashed his hands away from the keyboard. If he'd made the slightest error, the satellites would be useless. He'd be discovered, tossed into the brig, and left to rot in a re-education booth for the next ten thousand years. He swallowed hard, his heart hammering.

_SHOW CORE FUNCTIONS_

The same list as before showed up, but instantly he new it was different; the core values had changed, their parameters changed ever so slightly. He had altered the act of creation itself.

Slowly, he closed the override and pushed the screen away from him, taking to his feet and walking to the centre of the room where the holographic Arda spun slowly on her axis. From his office, he could impose his will on her. He could shape her the way he wanted - the way she _needed _to be shaped. A beautiful, terrifying landscape, of scorching sun, freezing wind, and mighty peaks, just like the Ain of old. From its iron hills would a new race be born, with all the technology of his great people and the grit and gall of his hard-living ancestors. This would be his legacy - they would be his Great Work.

An involuntary laugh escaped his mouth, followed by another, and another, until he was in hysterics. He didn't know where it had come from, and he didn't know if he could stop. He bent over double, his mouth split open wide. Tears fell from his eyes. His legs buckled and he fell to the floor, still screaming with laughter, until exhaustion crept over him and the last laugh died on his lips with the onset of sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Very sorry for the delay in updating - life has really taken over in the last few weeks (all good news, however). Very nice to be getting such good reviews for what's, for me, a very personal undertaking. I hope you all enjoy it!**

**- Phil**

* * *

"_-okay? Commander, wake up-"_

Melkor groaned and forced his eyelids open with great effort. His vision was blurred and painful, unable to make out anything but the most indistinct blobs. Adrenaline surged through his body and he threw himself backwards as he became aware of a hand pressing on his chest and a stout, shadowy figure looming over him. He slammed painfully into his desk, catching his head.

"Commander!" Aulë cried out as Melkor flopped forward, cradling the back of his head in pain. The lieutenant's strong arms righted him into a sitting position. "Let me see that," he said with authority. After making sure his commander wasn't bleeding, he let out a long, pained sigh. "Gods be praised, Commander, I thought you'd worked yourself to death," he said, catching his breath. "What happened?"

Melkor swallowed dust, his throat rebelling. "Don't remember," he half-lied. "Think I must have passed out-" he broke into a violent coughing fit, his mouth drier than a desert plain. Aulë unstoppered his canteen and pressed it into Melkor's hands, who greedily glugged down its contents. "Thank you," he croaked, wiping his chin with the back of his hand.

"How long have you been here?" Aulë asked, his brow etched with concern. Melkor shrugged.

"Eighth bell…two shifts ago," he recalled at length.

"Two days?!" Aulë repeated, incredulous. No wonder he'd collapsed. "Sir, I think we should take you to the infirmary."

"No, no, absolutely not," Melkor protested, getting to his feet shakily. Aulë instinctively wrapped an arm around his to steady him. "I just need…some rest. A little sleep and I'll be fine."

"With all due respect, Sir," Aulë replied, "you're not fine. You're working yourself into the ground, Boss," he said, concerned. Melkor's eyes met his adjutant's for the first time since he'd arrived. "Take a few days. I'll get Lórien to order you to rest if you don't," he warned, his kindly eyes hard with concern. Melkor sighed, his head nodding down slowly. "The satellites are done," Aulë reassured him, gripping his shoulder, "and the crust is practically hardened - Biotech will be making a start on their end today, we're not starting atmospheric development for a week."

Melkor's stomach fell through his body and his knees buckled, saved only from a trip to the floor by the strong arms of his lieutenant. _Biotech._ In his single-minded quest to control the satellites, he'd completely forgotten that Biotech were due to use half of them to begin laying topsoil and amino acids. If anyone would discover his treachery, it would be their gifted and intuitive lead scientist - Aulë's wife, Yavanna. He had to think fast.

"Yes," he admitted, "yes, you're right. A couple of days will do me right. But-" he pre-emptively interrupted Aulë, "-I will be at my workstation in my quarters from ninth to fifth bell, as usual. I just want to oversee the transition…make sure it all goes smoothly," he assured him. Aulë nodded understandingly.

"Of course, Sir," he acquiesced, releasing his grip to allow Melkor to regain his posture. "Myself and Mairon can keep control of things from this end." Melkor looked at him questioningly. "Tall lad. Blonde, good-looking." Melkor nodded in recognition.

"I've no doubt you'll be more than up to the task, Lieutenant," he assured him, already on his way out of the door, panic beginning to creep over him. He slid down the ladder from the gangway to the factory floor, and broke into a dead sprint. The terror of being found out surrounded his heart like an icy hand - he ran, harder and faster, throwing himself around corners and narrowly missing machinery and open flames before skidding to a halt outside the shuttle bay doors. "Come on, come on!" he urged through grit teeth as he jabbed the call button repeatedly, willing the shuttle to speed up on its way to him. He ignored the looks of interest from passing crew members, throwing himself inside the moment the bay doors opened. "Row 54, C-block! Engage Vala priority MELKOR, zero-zero-six-three!" he announced as soon as he was in, strapping himself down hurriedly.

The shuttle departed as such a speed Melkor was pinned to his seat, his face contorting under the sudden acceleration. The Officer's Override command was to be used only in the direst emergencies, when an officer's presence was required as fast as possible. Under its order, the shuttle zoomed through the transport hub at twice the normal speed, hitting connections at terrifying velocities and buffeting Melkor like a leaf in a gale. Within thirty seconds the shuttle had navigated the three miles from engineering to the officers' quarters, and Melkor stumbled jelly-legged from the capsule. Momentarily forgetting where he lived, he sauntered this way and that outside the shuttle bay before making an ungainly effort in the correct direction. His legs were beginning to tire from his run, and his entire body was suffering from taking a trip at half the speed of sound. Before exhaustion defeated him, however, he found his door and locked himself in his quarters.

Dragging himself to his workstation, he hurriedly loaded up his override program and and checked the status of the satellites. He breathed a sigh of relief to see that all satellites were currently aboard, upgraded and awaiting deployment. "Show me the video feed from Engineering," he announced, his workstation complying almost immediately. Multiple windows were projected around the room, allowing him to take in all angles at once. His eye was caught by the distinctive blue epaulets of the Biotech division; they had already arrived! Aulë was chatting amicably with a woman in Biotech uniform. Melkor recognised her as Vána, second-in-command at Biotech - and Aulë's sister-in-law. Melkor triumphed silently - no doubt the two would take their time with the handover, catching up on family business.

Cracking his clammy fingers, he began to type furiously, initiating a wide-spread reboot of the original core values of the satellites. He watched on tenterhooks as, one by one, the satellites returned to their default settings, the red blips on the screen turning green. Melkor finally breathed out as the last light changed, indicating his reset had worked. The breath, however, caught in his throat as he noticed Vána attaching small, innocuous-looking boxes to the underside of each of the satellites. An upgrade of their own? Why hadn't he been informed of this?

"Camera Five," he announced, rising on shaky legs to surround himself with the floating feeds from the surveillance cameras, "zoom in and target audio." The picture distorted as it expanded in-frame, resolving into a finely-grained image with metallic conversation grating over it.

"_-take too long to cart them down to Biotech the usual way. We've been working with Physic on them; the integrations it has to run are so complex, you need actual neural cells to take the strain. You engineers haven't beaten good, old-fashioned biology just yet,_" she ribbed him.

"_Instantaneous, though?_" Aulë replied, flabbergasted. "_It's not possible. Such complex matter can't be reintegrated with any degree of similarity to the original."_

Vána laughed as she pushed herself up from the floor, having attached the last box to the underside of a satellite. "_The computer's been running the calculations for five thousand years,_" she said. "_You can solve any problem if you have enough time to think about it._"

"_The ramifications,_" Aulë mumbled. "_Unthinkable._"

"_That's why this is going to be our little secret, alright?_" Vána replied, leaning close to Aulë's ear. "_The only people who even know they exist are the Captain, the Physic brass, and Yavanna and I. I had to promise the boys I'd make sure I was alone when I did this, but,_" she smiled, "_family's family, right?_"

Melkor ran a hand over his dry lips. Transportation? Such a thing was beyond anyone's comprehension - even his. For decades it had been ruled physically impossible for anything bar the simplest molecules. "Give me the feed from the Biotech holding bay," he demanded.

_OFFICER AUTHORISATION REQUIRED, _the computer barked back at him. Blurting out his clearance, Melkor watched intently as Vána ushered Aulë back before punching some numbers into a touchpad. With a blinding flash, a dozen satellites disappeared as swiftly as turning out a light. Almost simultaneously, another flash filled the screen of the Biotech bay's security camera, dissipating as rapidly as it had appeared and leaving in its wake twelve pristine satellites, exactly as they'd looked a moment before.

The breath in Melkor's throat finally released itself. Such a breakthrough was astonishing, its worth to its possessor immeasurable.

In that moment, he knew he had to have it.

* * *

On board the Iluvátar, life went on much as it had on Ain. People had grown to accept their new surroundings, to treat the invisible barriers protecting them from the vacuum of space as blithely as they would the edge of the highway; inured to the danger of what lay on the other side, they focused on their own paths. Millions of light-years from home, the distance seemed to have created a kind of amnesia among the crew. People laughed and loved, walked the corridors as if they were their childhood streets, visited the shiny, pop-up food outlets as though they had been going there for years.

The same sense of community pervaded the cafe Varda sat in, waiting for Enwe to show. She watched as Maiar - non-commissioned crewmen - dragged chairs across the small space to sit crushed together at tiny tables, as cadets shared soft drinks and talked about imagined conquests in what they thought was a knowing tone. _We adapt so easily_, Varda thought. She realised with a start she hadn't thought about home since they set out from port, six months ago by their reckoning - five-and-a-half millennia, in reality. Even in the absence of a family to have left behind, the image of her father's grave, long-overgrown and vanished from all memory, rose unbidden to the forefront of her mind. She screwed her eyes shut tightly, scaring the image away with thoughts of the conversation she was about to have.

"Boo!" Enwe whispered into Varda's ear, sending her spasming back to reality and almost throwing her coffee over the floor. Enwe giggled as Varda panted heavily, her heart racing like a motor.

"Gods be praised, Enwe," Varda spat through grit teeth, "don't do that."

"Sorry," her friend lied, with a smile from ear to ear. "I couldn't help myself." Enwe's smile faded as she noticed the dark look on Varda's face, underscored by the early traces of bags beneath her eyes. "Are you alright? Have you been ill?"

"Yes," Varda lied back. _Well - it's not entirely untrue,_ she thought to herself. She'd stayed up sick with worry the night before, playing the conversation through in her mind over and over. Forcing herself to say the words again and again, so she wouldn't trip over her own tongue or be frozen by a traumatic memory. It was also easier for her to pretend her absence for the last few days had been down to sickness, and not from having assiduously avoided Enwe while she worked up the courage to bring her new relationship crashing down. "I think I've been working too hard."

"You have," Enwe cooed, clutching Varda's hands from across the table. "I was wondering where you'd got to, the department's lost without you! And you've missed a LOT of news about me and Melkor-" she began, preparing to launch into an update of her life story.

"Actually, Enwe," Varda cut in, her voice brittle as she felt the fear begin to rise in her, "Melkor is what I wanted to talk to you about."

Enwe laughed uncertainly. "Then, let me finish, bossy!" She replied flippantly.

"No," Varda swallowed, "I mean, Iwant to talk _to_ you…about him."

Enwe's face, usually so expressive, fell blank and still. "What are you talking about?"

Varda took a deep breath and let it go slowly, staring intently at her coffee. "Did you-are you aware-" she began. She cursed inwardly and swallowed hard again. "Melkor and I were in a relationship. A LONG time ago," she added as Enwe's eyes took on the appearance of saucers. "I imagine he wouldn't have mentioned this," she half-asked.

"No!" Enwe blurted out, loud enough to turn heads around the cafe. "No," she repeated, quieter, her full cheeks reddening as she felt eyes settle on the pair of them. "When? How long for?" she demanded.

"Like I said, a _long_ time ago," Varda repeated, "and…two, nearly three years."

Enwe, having sat bolt upright, seemed to deflate in surprise as she slouched back into her chair. "But…how," she began, her long-lashed eyelids fluttering in confusion, "How did you end up with Manwë if you went out with his brother?" She asked, hissing the last word as though wary of eavesdroppers.

She had told herself before setting out that it wouldn't be like a session with Nienna. She'd be controlled, precise and measured - not an unravelling bundle of trauma and regrets, as she so often ended up being with the counsellor. But as Varda got into her subject, as the memories resurfaced and the feelings of fear and inadequacy took hold, she found herself recounting, blow by blow, Melkor's descent into abuse and neediness, her own crippling self-doubt, and each and every curse and slander he had thrown at her at the height of his pique. It was as if the mere act of speaking of their history was forcing her to re-live it; like a magic spell transporting her through time and space to her darkest of days.

"And the worst of it all is," Varda finally concluded, her lip trembling uncontrollably, "the worst is he hasn't changed. Not a bit. I look into his eyes and I see…I see nothing. A hole. As if, behind all the brains and the shy-little-boy act there's something deep and dark and hungry - a black hole, sucking in everything you give it, never to be seen again. I don't want him to hurt you too," she croaked before collapsing into a teary coughing fit.

She sniffled noisily for some time as Enwe sat, as still as a cat waiting to pounce, in silence. "I'm sorry," she said at length, "that your relationship with him was so bad." Silence fell once more and dragged out between them for uncomfortable seconds.

"And?" Varda blurted, laughing with exhaustion and exasperation. "Don't you have anything else to say? I haven't even told Manwë half of this shit, Enwe, I was hoping for a little more reaction!"

"I'm happy," Enwe replied firmly. "I know it might not be what you want to hear, but Melkor makes me happy. That's all that matters, and anything beyond that is my business." Varda's mouth dropped open slowly. She'd never seen her friend so cold; the exaggerated facial expressions, the histrionic tone of voice were all gone, stripped away to reveal a hard and serious woman beneath. Her huge eyes blazed like binary stars in a stony face, flushed red with indignation.

"Have…have you been listening to a word I've said?" Varda muttered, her stomach falling away from her as the empty feeling of loss and failure began to fill her throat. "The man's a psychopa-"

"What would you know? You haven't spoken to him in six years, not since you started fucking his brother!" Enwe spat, launching herself forward to loom over the table. Varda flinched and recoiled as Enwe thrust her face to within inches of her own, spreading her arms across the table like a spider. "What, are you not happy with making him feel even _more _inferior to Manwë? You've got to try and wreck all his subsequent relationships too? Well, the man I know isn't the boy you went out with. I'm _happy_," she reiterated, "for the first time since…" she trailed off. _Since Ain_, the unspoken words hung in the air. "And I'm sorry you're so hung up on a bad relationship that you want to ruin mine."

"Hung up?" Varda repeated, furious. "_Hung up?_ He abused me!" Heads began to turn in earnest, earwigging onto the loudening conversation. "It's not like we broke up for some…some _normal _reason," she blurted, "he's…dangerous!"

"Maybe he was," Enwe replied, straightening up but still clutching the sides of the table as though preparing to vault it, "but he's not now. I know him better now than you do, and these things you're saying…they're not the Melkor I know. I'm sorry they happened to you, I really am, but…don't try and sabotage my relationship by sweeping in with your sob story." Varda gasped like she'd been punched. "It's not the man I know, and I can live with that. Let us cast-offs have each other, at least," she said venomously, pushing herself up from her seat and striding out of the cafe without a backward glance.

The patrons' eyes sheepishly turned back to their own tables pair by pair as the entertainment ended. Uncomfortable chatter resumed, punctuated by forced laughter as Varda sat in shock, not entirely processing the conversation which had just happened. Despite all her warnings, Enwe was still hell-bent on pursuing a relationship with Melkor with a terrifying inevitability. Did she perhaps think she could control Melkor? The very idea would have made Varda laugh, had it not been so horrific a concept. Melkor wasn't controlled - he WAS control.

She sat on the hard metal seat until her coffee had gone stone cold and the patrons retired to their quarters or clocked in for another shift, all the while as silent as the grave. As she stared out at the endless deep of space, the part of her mind that made her dream about Melkor told her that if Enwe did end up with him, there would come a day when Varda would no longer recognise her friend.


	6. Chapter 6

Weeks passed. Like the planet beneath them, Enwe had cooled and hardened, no longer admitting those excesses of emotion and exuberance to which Varda had grown accustomed. Their working relationship had begun to fracture; their long conversations were a thing of the past, replaced with terse discussions on strictly work-related subjects. Varda had assumed that they would patch up their differences after the argument in the cafe in due time, once Enwe had poured her heart and soul out to Melkor while he stood shell-shocked, unsure what to do with a hysterical woman. But instead a chill seemed to follow her friend around, a coldness that permeated her every interaction. It was almost, Varda thought to herself in sleepless moments, like she was becoming more and more like Melkor.

"She's applied for a transfer," she mumbled. "To Engineering."

"Why do you think she's done that?" Nienna asked, sitting cross-legged on her chair as she always did.

"I don't know," Varda replied, tired. "Maybe she wants to see less of me, maybe she wants to see more of Melkor? I think it's both, to be honest."

Nienna nodded and took notes. "Have you tried engaging her in conversation since your argument?"

Varda shook her head. "No point. The moment I approach her it's like something goes down behind her eyes, like a blind. She's not as happy-go-lucky as she once was at the best of times, but when we're together…" She shuddered. "It's like she hates me."

"You told her a truth she was unwilling to believe," Nienna said. "From what you've told me of her reaction, it seems like she's a fairly damaged individual who's putting an awful lot of stock in this relationship succeeding; when you came along and - in her eyes - threatened to sabotage that relationship, she changed tack to protect herself. Silly, cold, angry - whatever it appears on the outside, I believe that inside she's…just sad," she finished, a hint of pity in her voice.

"Well, it doesn't matter HOW sad she is," Varda retorted, "it doesn't do me any good. I've lost just about my only real friend on the ship…apart from Manwë, I suppose."

"Let's talk about Manwë," Nienna interjected, sensing a new angle. "How is your relationship at the moment?"

Varda shrugged. The argument with Enwe had been easy compared to going home to Manwë that evening and telling him what had happened; he had remained resolutely diplomatic throughout, claiming he could 'see how Enwe would have reacted badly', that she should 'let her make her own decisions', and that 'it's been six years; you barely know him anymore'. His lack of support had felt like a punch. "It's fine," she replied non-committally. "We're both working so hard we don't really get any alone time, but we knew it'd be like that. We try to make the most of whatever time we do get."

Nienna took notes as the background hum of the ship throbbed in the background. "How's the sex?"

Varda did a double-take, as Nienna smiled good-naturedly. "A healthy sex life is essential to a good relationship. We're all adults here, you know. Though, of course, you don't have to talk about anything you don't want-"

"It's fine," Varda forestalled her. "No complaints." Nienna took more notes as Varda cleared her throat uncomfortably.

"Do you think about Melkor at all?" Varda's eyes nearly fell out of their sockets. "_Not _during sex," Nienna quickly clarified.

Varda sighed loudly. "Sometimes. Most of the time, it's because I can't help it; he worries me. I'm scared he's going to turn Enwe into something…" she stopped, biting her lip. _He already has._

"Are you still having the nightmares?"

Varda's silence told Nienna all she needed to know. Still, she needed to hear the words - and she knew Varda needed to say them.

"Varda?"

"Yes," she replied quietly. "I'm still having nightmares."

"Are they the same as they were?"

Varda coughed. "For the most part," she said. "But sometimes Enwe is in them."

Nienna raised an eyebrow despite herself. "How does she feature?" She asked, leaning forward.

"She's with him," she explained. "At the end, when I get to the bridge and he's…there, she's by his side. She looks different; bigger, more…dangerous."

"I think," Nienna opined after some moments of silence in which she tapped frantically at her touchpad, "that you're no longer worried that Melkor is going to hurt Enwe, turn her into a doormat, in your words. I think - in my professional opinion - that you're worried that he's going to turn her into someone nastier and meaner than herself, someone-"

"Someone like him," Varda finished for her. "Yes. That's exactly what I think."

Nienna stretched and re-settled herself on her seat, before beginning gingerly, "How important is Enwe's friendship to you?"

"Very," Varda replied, on the verge of taking offense.

"I only ask," Nienna continued, "because I think, under the circumstances, it's best if you let her go to Engineering. It will stop your awkward interactions," she carried on quickly as Varda straightened suddenly, "and she will be able to spend more time in the company of Melkor, to see what he's really like; either they'll break up, or they won't. Either way, in due time, you'll get your friend back. Time and distance are great healers, believe me."

Varda frowned. Would it not be a betrayal of her promise to protect her friend, to surrender her to the very man she wanted to protect her from? But the fact was, relations between them were currently so poor that having them in the same room together lowered the temperature by ten degrees. The thought of signing Enwe's transfer request and sending her off without a backward glance had been tempting her for days; only now, Varda was forced to admit with some guilt, upon hearing the advice of her trusted counsellor, did she feel she had the nerve to do it.

"Alright," she sighed. "I'll do it."

Nienna's soft words of encouragement were lost in Varda's internal monologue, the last remnants of the voice in her heart telling her she was taking the coward's way out. _Send her away_, it told her, _and she won't be the same._

The way Enwe was behaving right now, Varda thought, any change would be a bonus.

* * *

"Things are coming along well, wouldn't you say?" Captain Eru asked his first mate, passing him a glass of whiskey.

"Ahead of schedule," Manwë concurred. "Impressive, given the setbacks we've had." Melkor's actions in sealing the split in the crust, while having incurred the Captain's wrath at first, were now being spoken of highly by the other officers, and his progress in balancing the repair work and keeping the mission on-schedule had marked him out as an engineer - and an officer - of rare competence.

"Quite," Eru replied, taking a sip of his own drink and sighing, satisfied. "We can start to think about which poor bastards have to go down there, now."

Manwë nodded. It wouldn't be an easy task, and it was considered something of a horrible honour to be selected. Some officers even called the Colonial team the "forlorn hope", after the much-lauded but ultimately fatal first wave of attackers in the battles of antiquity. 14 senior officers, each selecting five junior officers as adjutants, to whom twenty crewmen apiece would be assigned: 1,400 people being asked to make the second-most-difficult decision of their lives.

He sipped the drink slowly, letting its fire coat his palate. The alcohol on board was invariably watered-down grog compared to the real thing; after all, when a single hungover technician could annihilate a continent, it didn't pay to give your crew the good stuff. But this, from the Captain's private supply, was vintage; laid down in 546.409AIN, half a century before they set out. Eru had a crate of it hidden in the ceiling of his office. "I thought the Colonial teams were assigned before we set out?"

Eru shrugged. "They're only recommendations," he replied. "As Captain, I have the final say. They're good recommendations, though," he continued, reaching for a tablet on the small table between them. "A lot of things have to be considered when you're choosing officers to populate a new planet; you don't just want the best person for the job, you want someone you can rely on. You know what I mean?" Manwë nodded. _Someone who'll take orders and won't go insane from loneliness. _"As I say, I agree with most of the names on this list. See what you think," he passed the tablet to Manwë.

Manwë scanned the list of names. His mouth curled into a small smile as he noticed, again and again, people he knew and respected counted amongst the crew's best and brightest. Ulmo, Yavanna, Vana, Lórien, Nienna; any society founded by such wise, kind people would surely be worthy of the name of Ain. "All fine officers," he concluded, handing the tablet back with another sip of the precious whiskey. "Which of them are you considering for command?"

Eru set his glass down and fixed his gaze on Manwë. "None of them," he said, letting his words hang in the air. "You weren't included in this list because you were considered too important to the mission to be spared, but…" He craned his neck to look out of the window. Arda glowered beneath them, an angry grey rock besieged by winds and rain as the biosphere began to take hold; what Varda always used to call the "birth pangs" of a planet. "As far as I am concerned, _that_ is the mission. That and every other planet we terraform until there are none of us left."

Manwë knew what was coming, but the pain in the Captain's eyes tempered his pride. He knew so little about him; he was ineffable, in a way, a constant commanding figure who remained apart from his men, despite earning their respect so easily. But the deep, dark hole he sensed beneath the Captain's steely gaze betrayed a man who had - like nearly all of the crew of his ship - lost everything to the Blight.

The desperate survivors of a dying race, running to the hills to find sanctuary.

"I agree, Sir," he murmured.

"I hoped you would," the Captain said kindly. "You're the most competent officer I've ever served with, Manwë; you're my first and only choice to lead the first Colony."

Manwë swallowed. "I am grateful, Sir," he said, "but…I hadn't expected this. My wife…"

"I understand," Eru replied. "She wasn't on the list for the same reason as you. Talk it over with her; if you accept, then we can talk about who you'll be taking with you." Manwë nodded nervously, his mind already racing. Would Varda even agree? If she wouldn't join him, there was no question of him going. And yet, the thought of leaving the first colony in the hands of someone less experienced in command sent a chill down his spine; his sense of honour, something his wife had rolled her eyes over too many times to count, told him he had a moral obligation to ensure the colony had the best possible leadership. _To fulfill my duty to the best of my ability _- those were the words he had sworn upon joining the Service. Would his refusal of this role be tantamount to dereliction of duty?

The faces of his friends stared back at him from the tablet on the table. Good officers, good people. Their safety would be his responsibility. The placid eyes of their Service mugshots seemed to radiate a certain helplessness, pleading Manwë to assume leadership for the good of them all. He frowned, dispelling the fanciful notion; _arrogance_, he told himself. These were grown men and women who knew the dangers of what they'd signed up for, and who had been found capable of sustaining the worst hardship imaginable. When he thought about it in those terms, one face entered his mind: his wife's. If anyone could survive on a primeval planet, it was her.

"I will talk to her about it," he agreed, letting go of a breath that seemed to have been trapped in his throat for an age. "I'm sure she'll be just as pleased with the news as I am," he added, which wasn't - technically - a lie.

Eru beamed proudly and raised his glass. "To Arda," he announced. The pair clinked glasses and took a long drink of whiskey as a thunderstorm raged directly beneath them, setting the grey sky aglow.

* * *

"It's never going to work. Just admit defeat."

Aulë shushed his wife's protests as he tried, in vain, to encourage what little hair remained on his head to cover his ever-widening bald spot. "I had it the other day, you saw!"

"You haven't been able to do a proper combover since you were thirty," she retorted, penciling heavy lines of kohl onto her eyelids. "Just let it go, Aulë, we've all got to get old some time."

"Oh, that's rich," he replied, throwing the comb over his shoulder in exasperation. "Remind me, how many berths did they have to double up on so you could get your supply of foundation on board?"

"A woman is entitled to grow old exactly as slowly as she chooses," his wife called back to him from the bathroom. "You're the ones who insist we look so good in makeup, after all. If you're not going to admit that none of us - man or woman - are as pretty as we pretend we are, then you're stuck with male pattern baldness and middle-age spread."

"All the creams and lotions you've got taking up space in the cabinet," he grumbled, adjusting the collar on a suit he hadn't worn since he was a younger man. "You'd think they'd have come up with the cure for baldness by now."

"Now, why would they do that?" Yavanna replied. "After all, we're told a bald man is 'mature' and 'growing old gracefully'. But a woman past fifty with wrinkles? 'Haggard'. It's the way of the world," she sighed as she watched Aulë approach her from behind in the mirror. He wrapped his strong arms around her waist and kissed her cheek.

"Well, it won't be the way of _our _world, will it?" he whispered, cradling his wife. They admired themselves in the mirror; neither of them were exactly growing old gracefully, and neither had any plans to. Another family who had been devastated by the Blight seeking refuge in the depths of space, a little plot of a foreign planet to live out the remainder of their lives together. A silent, constantly-looping short video of a young man jumping down a flight of stairs and colliding with the camera sat beside the mirror, for a second giving the impression that three were present instead of two.

"Come on," Aulë said quietly to break Yavanna out of her reverie. "Let's not keep them waiting." Dressed to the nines, they made their way across the ship to Áron's, the Officers-only restaurant in the revolving observation lounge extending out of A-deck. They took the 'scenic route' - shuttles that snaked their way around the outside of the ship to offer unbroken views of the vastness of space beyond - to get themselves accustomed to the panoramic view of Arda's face the circular restaurant allowed. As they exited the shuttle in the bay outside the restaurant, Melkor and Enwe were already waiting for them.

"Evening, Boss," Aulë greeted Melkor as they clasped hands. "You're looking a lot better than you have been lately."

"Working from home," Melkor replied, a rictus grin plastered onto his face. "It's helped me relax."

"That's not all that's helped you relax," Enwe added, pulling herself close to Melkor's side. She was laced into an impossibly tight, body-hugging dress that bared everything above the chest. Sparkling sequins shimmered like scales across the curve of her hip and down her leg, not so much catching the light as seeming to imprison it. "Enwe," she introduced herself to Aulë, extending a hand. "Pleased to meet you."

Aulë took her hand clumsily and burbled, "Uh…p-pleased to meet you too, Miss." Yavanna rolled her eyes. "Good of you both to suggest we meet before you start working under me."

Enwe froze momentarily, her wide, rosy-cheeked smile immobile. "Our pleasure," she replied effusively, turning to Aulë's wife. "And you must be Yavanna," she said, offering her hand once more. "I hear you're unparalleled in dendrogenesis."

Yavanna took Enwe's hand and bristled as a chill went through her body. Something about her set the biologist on edge; a kind of emptiness, a hunger, lay beneath the skin, seemingly enhanced by the utter blackness of her dress. "You're too kind," she replied, forcing a smile.

"Shall we go inside?" Melkor announced, breaking the tension a little. They filed into the restaurant and were seated with surprising rapidity by an extremely courteous maître d'; evidently Melkor's good graces amongst the more influential of the officers were beginning to filter down into the rank-and-file. Arda loomed, as though rising, in the edgeless window beside them.

"I can't believe they gave us such a good table," Aulë said as he watched clouds race across the north pole with the breathless awe of a child.

"Yes, I was under the impression that Engineering was…well…a rather _uncool_ department," Yavanna added, eyeing her husband amusedly. From the corner of her eye, Enwe's bust appeared to rise three inches as she inhaled sharply, her huge eyes narrowing.

"They all say that," Melkor replied, "until something goes wrong. Then it's all please and thank you," he laughed, surreptitiously squeezing Enwe's hand beneath the table as though commanding her to relent. A ripple of laughter went around the table as waiters approached with complementary wine. The glass had barely touched the table before Yavanna had snatched it up and taken a healthy swig.

The atmosphere of the meal, though never frosty, never got above tepid due to the "war of wills" between Yavanna and Enwe, as Aulë would later term it. Most of the conversation between the two seemed to turn to the respective brilliance of their partners; while Aulë had interjected frequently - mostly out of embarrassment - to steer them towards a new topic, Melkor had appeared oddly satisfied with the eagerness and passion with which Enwe would sing his praises, leaning back in his chair with an odd smile on his face.

Course after course arrived at their table, many of which they hadn't even ordered - "with the chef's compliments," was the unvarying explanation. Never one to pass on a free meal, Aulë had gorged himself, piling his plate high with cured meats, stuffed mushrooms, fresh shellfish and other delicacies. When at last the flow of food had stopped, the four sat satiated as Arda began to sink beneath the window, the observation lounge continuing its unceasing turn. Aulë unfastened the lowest button of his tunic as Melkor lit a cigarette.

"I think I'll go and freshen up," Yavanna announced.

"Me too," Enwe added quickly, springing up from her seat like a cat. A tense look passed between the two, fixed smiles glinting, before they made their way to the restrooms together. Once they were out of earshot, Melkor took a long drag of his cigarette and pulled himself closer to the table.

"I should have warned you," he said apologetically, "she can be…quite passionate."

Aulë grunted non-committally. "It's no problem," he said, "I'm sure she's a perfectly capable girl; as long as she follows orders she'll be right as rain."

"Oh, she does at that," Melkor mumbled, a strange, lop-sided smile spreading over his face. "But there's just something you need to know before you start work." Aulë raised an eyebrow. "She…won't be working _under _you. She'll be working _with _you. I'm issuing her a commission to First Lieutenant."

Aulë's bulky frame swayed forwards. He leaned over the table to look Melkor in the eye. "You…you're not serious?" he blustered.

"I'm entirely serious, Aulë," Melkor replied placidly. "She's an incredibly talented engineer who I think has been wasted in Low Orbit Tech. Two heads are better than one, as they say."

"And too many hands spoil the primordial broth!" Aulë retorted, real anger beginning to rise in him. "You know we're at a critical stage right now; if the biosphere doesn't take, we're going to have to reset the tectonics and start the continent design from scratch. A new, unexperienced officer joining us at this stage is a disaster waiting to happen!"

"I'll vouch for her," Melkor pre-empted him. "Her mind is…exceptional. It's _because_ we're at such a critical stage that I'm convinced we need all the help we can get."

Aulë's eyes narrowed, his jovial looks and rotund body taking on a more threatening, muscular aspect. "Are you sure that's all there is to it?" He demanded, his voice so low it was almost a growl. "Don't you think it's slightly too convenient, your new girlfriend requesting a transfer out of the blue and then being promoted? I know you probably think I'm just a fat old fart, but I'm not as stupid as I look, Melkor."

Melkor's fist came crashing down on the table, the violence of it stiffening Aulë straight. "I will not be accused of nepotism by a subordinate," he hissed, his boyish face twisted in masque-like fury. "For all your talk of following orders, you seem bewilderingly incapable of grasping this one: where you go, she goes. What you do, she checks. When she has a question, you answer it. And don't you _ever _question if I'm doing what I think is best for the department again. And Aulë?"

Aulë remained stock-still in his chair, his thick jaw tight and eyes blazing. Melkor leaned forward, craning his neck out like a lizard.

"I may be younger than you, but I'm still your commanding officer. And as long as that's the case, you will address me by my proper title. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Sir," Aulë replied, seething. As if on cue, Yavanna and Enwe returned to the table, smiles still conspicuously in place. Melkor shrunk back slowly, sitting tall in his chair, like a cat surveying its territory.

"Is it worth me asking if you want dessert?" Yavanna asked her husband as she took her seat beside him.

"No," Aulë replied, his eyes still locked with Melkor's as the young man took a drag of his cigarette and allowed smoke to billow out of his nostrils. "No, I don't think I will. I think we should get going."

Yavanna's eyes widened and Enwe raised an eyebrow. Aulë could tell she had guessed what had caused the obvious friction in the air. "What, now? Are you alright, Aulë?"

"I'm fine," he said, a touch too loudly. Twenty-five years of marriage told Yavanna that no, he wasn't fine, and they really did have to leave right now. "Just…very tired. Probably overeaten. Goodnight, Enwe," he said, gripping his wife's hand. "Goodnight, Commander," he added more coldly. Melkor inclined his head as Aulë and Yavanna left without a backward glance.

The rosy-cheeked smile on Enwe's face faded slowly as their guests retreated. "He didn't take it well, then?"

"No," Melkor replied, stubbing his cigarette out on the tablecloth. "Not well at all."


	7. Chapter 7

A chill chased the warm red wine down Varda's throat, setting off a coughing fit. "What?" She said as she recovered.

"The Captain wants me to be the commander of the Arda Mission," he repeated. Varda set her glass down slowly, feeling heat rise in her cheeks. She'd been looking forward to their first private dinner together in weeks, a chance to reconnect; now, it just seemed like their lives were doomed to become more complicated by the minute.

"I thought," she began, unable to finish. "I didn't think-"

"He recommended me personally," he explained. "Said I was 'wasted as a First Officer' and was 'ready for my own command'."

"Is it an order?" Varda finally managed to say.

"No," Manwë replied breezily, picking at his food. He'd pulled some strings at Áron's and managed to get the chef's special delivered straight to their quarters, but even the succulent viands on his plate couldn't distract his attention. "No-one can be ordered to take feet," he explained, slipping into the casual terminology of the Corps, "it's an entirely voluntary process. But Eru's personal recommendation is…not something to be taken lightly," he said, blowing hard.

"Are you going to accept?" She asked.

Manwë shrugged. "Depends, doesn't it?"

Varda scoffed at his nonchalance. "On what?"

His gaze locked with hers, his face wearing the smile she found so endearing.

Instantly, Varda understood. She giggled despite herself, blushing like a schoolgirl. "Oh, come on," she blurted, "the junior officers are barely trained; if I leave them now, they might turn the next planet into a slag heap!" Low Orbit Tech had been poorly-staffed from the get-go; the majority of experts in the field had elected to remain on Ain to try and heal their planet, convinced that the solution to the havoc wreaked by the Blight lay in evacuation to space stations orbiting the ruined surface while satellites tried to repair the damage.

"They're big boys and girls," Manwë countered, leaning across the table to take his wife's hands. "They'll survive. That's what books are for. Come on, imagine it. An entire planet to ourselves."

"Ourselves and a thousand other people," Varda complained half-heartedly as Manwë brought her hands to his lips.

"Have you seen what the colony's going to look like?" He asked, kissing her wrist. She eyed him slyly. Of course she had – it had been plastered on every holographic billboard around the ship, a promise of what was to come. A sublime blend of the most sophisticated Ain technology, and the most beautiful craftsmanship of antiquity. Towering stone spires topped with glowing neon lights, mighty golden domes ringed with the pale blue thrum of electricity. It was a cross between a fairytale and a fever dream. "I think you could deal with it," he purred.

"I'm not some silly little girl you can buy off with promises of the life of a princess," Varda said stubbornly, her pulse rising as Manwë's rough fingers traced a line down her slender forearm. "I'm a scientist and a professional, and I have a duty to see that my department becomes self suf-" Manwë kissed her wrist again, his teeth grazing the skin. "-ficient," she finished, her voice dissipating into a breath.

Manwë leaned in close to his wife. "Sod it," he whispered, kissing her passionately. She dug her fingers into his short, golden hair, sending her wine glass tumbling as they brought their bodies closer together over the table.

"You're always going on about duty," she said breathlessly as they parted, their faces barely an inch apart. "Training the juniors is mine."

"No," Manwë growled, "your duty is to take care of the satellites. That's your job. My job is to command. Let's do both together," he said, kissing her again.

"We'd be leaving almost everyone we know," she said as Manwë began to kiss her neck. "We'd have to see the same people every day for the rest of our lives."

"We live on a spaceship," Manwë replied sardonically. "You'd feel wind and rain again. Who knows, one day, maybe even sunlight."

Varda groaned – and not just because of Manwë's wandering hands. At the time the Iluvátar had set off, it had been almost a generation since an Ainur had felt sunlight; for people of Manwë and Varda's age, it was a distant childhood memory. "Tell me more," she whispered.

Manwë scooped his wife up in his arms and threw her onto the bed as she squealed with delight. "Fruit," he said, his hands entwining with hers as he buried his face into the crook of her neck. "Real fruit, growing from the vine. Sea, and sand beneath your feet."

Varda let out a groan of pleasure as Manwë shifted his weight on top of her, his hips parting her legs. "And stars," she sighed, "that twinkle."

"All this and more," Manwë promised her, running rough fingers through her long, dark curls. Varda's heart beat so hard she feared it would break from her chest.

"Yes," she whispered in Manwë's ear as he kissed down her neck, their meal entirely forgotten.

* * *

A dark cloud hung over the party seated, as they so often were, around Ulmo's table. Aulë's bad news had put paid to game night this week. Tulkas' dark-eyed distrust of Melkor had swollen into murderous rage, barely restrained by Nessa's calmer head.

"That back-stabbing little prick!" He roared,, not for the first time that night, slamming a bottle of beer onto the table so hard its contents shot skyward like a geyser. "It's not right. Not right at all. There must be something against it in the regulations," he said, eyeing Nessa.

"I'm afraid not," she replied. "As Chief of Engineering he's entitled to issue field commissions if he feels it's necessary. The Captain can countermand it, of course, but I doubt he'll question Melkor's decision."

"I honestly never thought of him as a…_cruel_ person before," Aulë mumbled, running his thumb along the mouth of his bottle. "But the moment I questioned his reasons for promoting her…" He trailed off, shuddering.

"Something about _her_, though," Yavanna interjected, "was just not right. I got a sense of it from the moment I met her," she said, her lips pursed and head continually shaking in subconscious disdain. "You know, when you can just…_feel_ the wrong on some people?" The party nodded solemnly in agreement.

"When she was chasing Ulmo", Nessa replied, "she just came across as slightly pathetic to me. A bit desperate."

"No, this was different," Yavanna retorted immediately, sitting forward. "She wasn't pathetic at all, she was…she felt dangerous, like she was his guard dog or something. Like a wild animal he'd trained to protect him."

"I should have kept my mouth shut," Aule groaned, rubbing his callused hands over his face. "Cornered him about it when he wasn't expecting it. He went there knowing we were going to have a fight, and he was ready for one," he concluded.

"You were right to do it," Ulmo opined, his usually-theatrical voice deep and serious. "A more experienced officer would have understood that with the situation as it is; they're seeing each other, she's just got a transfer; putting her in a position of such importance-"

"One she's unqualified to do!" Yavanna spat, her brow knotted in fury.

"One she's unqualified to do," Ulmo agreed, "would show favouritism. Well…a more conscientious officer, at least," he finished darkly.

"I said it," Tulkas chimed in, his bushy beard quivering with anger. "I bloody said it. The inside of that boy's head wants examining. He's not normal."

A sigh of agreement passed around the table as gloomy silence descended upon them again.

* * *

Varda traced patterns in the curls of the short hair that covered Manwë's chest. Her slender fingers traced invisible lines across his body, familiar and comfortable. They sat naked together, ensconced in pillows, bodies entwined.

"I lied to Nienna," she said quietly, burying her face into Manwë's chest. "I told her our sex life was fine."

Manwë laughed weakly. "Bloody Touched," he breathed. "They're obsessed with it."

"But it hasn't been," Varda complained, wrapping her arm tighter around Manwë's waist. "It's felt like we've been neglecting each other. We've both been so busy."

"Yeah," Manwë agreed with a sigh. "I suppose things have…got in our way, a bit."

"Will it be different on Arda?"

Manwë paused. "Yes," he said at length, turning to face his wife. "Yes, I promise."

She smiled and kissed him, breathing in his scent. "Who are you going to take?" She asked.

Manwë stretched and settled deeper on the pillows. "I haven't decided on everyone yet," he replied, "but a couple of names stand out. Ulmo, definitely." Varda nodded in agreement. "Irmo, from Medical, and his wife…Ista?"

"Estë," Varda corrected him.

"Whatever," he grunted. "And Melkor, of course," he added, almost as an afterthought.

Varda shot up from Manwë's side, rising to meet her husband's gaze. "What do you mean, 'of course'?" she said flatly.

Manwë's brow knitted in confusion. "I mean…of course, of course," he said, laughing.

"As in, there's not even going to be debate?"

Manwë groaned and rolled his eyes. "Varda, he's the best engineer on a ship of geniuses, and besides which, he's my brother. I would never forgive myself if I left him here, alone."

Varda scoffed. "Oh, would it hurt his feelings for big brother to have a life of his own and not have his little brother trotting after him?"

"You know that's not what I mean," Manwë sighed, getting up from the bed and slipping a robe on.

"Well, what DO you mean?" Varda pressed him.

Manwë sighed heavily. "You're an only child," he said. "You don't know what it's like." He looked at the ground guiltily before continuing. "When you lost your dad, you only had to worry about yourself. I had to look after a scared boy, I had to be another father for him – while dealing with our own father's affairs. I have you, but he doesn't have _anyone _else."

"He doesn't have anyone else because he's a…he's a…bastard!" Varda spluttered indignantly.

"Doesn't matter," Manwë retorted. "He's my brother. You don't give up on family, no matter what," he said as he retired to the bathroom in a temper. "I don't expect you to understand it, but I'd like you to at least appreciate it," he shouted through the closed door.

The warmth of the wine and Manwë's residual body heat finally left Varda. She bristled, naked on the bed, and wrapped the sheet around her like a chrysalis. For yet another night, she was to force herself to sleep.

* * *

"Morning, Commander!"

"Morning, Boss!"

"Alright, Sir?"

Melkor manoeuvred silkily through a crowd of junior officers and crewmen. They had seemed to multiply in number lately, conspicuously hanging around his office when he was present or the shuttle bays when he was due to arrive. A few perfunctory nods and mouthed nothings and the crowd melted away, pleased with itself, as he pressed on to his office. The rictus smile on his face dropped into a blank scowl as soon as the door closed behind him, locking him once more in his snug metal womb above the factory floor.

"On," he commanded the computer, resuming where he had left off the night before. The great holographic globe reappeared in the centre of the circular room, rapidly becoming cluttered with lists of numbers and calculations. The latest series of changes to the planet had been much more subtle, and thus more difficult to manage, and Melkor had given the task his full attention for some time. Officially, Arda was to have no ice-caps at its poles, the better to navigate the planet. Melkor had been quietly using satellites, one or two at a time so as not to arouse suspicion, to disperse aerosolised liquid oxygen into the atmosphere at the northern pole. While his calculations had shown he couldn't possibly freeze the entire pole this way, he could tip the equilibrium just far enough to cause a permanent cycle of freezing.

For hours, he watched as satellites, rendered as dots of light, floated across the surface of his holographic planet. As one of Engineering's satellites drifted back to base at the end of its mission, he redirected it to the north pole and began his process, a few minutes at a time. Numbers and bars floated just beyond his eyeline, detailing the exact amounts of raw materials being deposited and his proximity to the icing threshold.

The chime of the bell broke his concentration and nearly sent him ordering a satellite into a death-dive. "Come!" he barked as he quickly hid the display.

Aulë entered, grim-faced. The pair hadn't seen each other since two nights previous, when Melkor had brutally gerrymandered Aulë's operation. "Commander," he greeted him gruffly.

"Problem, Lieutenant?" Melkor asked, trying his best to look placid.

"Day's supply inventory," he replied, thrusting a tablet under Melkor's nose. "All awaiting your mark."

Melkor gave the list a cursory glance before pressing his thumb to the tablet face. He handed it back dismissively, his eyes pointedly avoiding his lieutenants'.

"Thank you, Sir," Aulë said quietly, pressing his own thumb to the tablet. "I was thinking we were going through more liquid oxygen than normal recently," he said, almost conversationally, as the tablet's face turned a warm green in confirmation. "Can't for the life of me think why. But I'm sure you know best, Sir," he said with a politeness that bordered on chilling.

"Is that all?" Melkor replied bluntly.

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir." And Aulë turned on his heels and exited without another word.

As the door swept shut with a gentle _ping_, Melkor leapt to his feet and sent a deskful of materia cascading to the floor in a rage. That man…his insolence made his blood boil. But beneath the anger, the same fear that had so recently gripped him lay freshly roused. For all his bluff and bluster, Aulë really was – in his own words – not as stupid as he looked. Given enough time and sufficient leeway, he'd figure it out soon enough. Plans would have to be laid; plans more extreme than any Melkor had yet formed.

His bloody-minded schemes were stopped in their tracks by an irritating whistle from his workstation: a new message. "Play," he spat, newly angry at being interrupted.

"Hi, Melkor, it's me," came his brother's voice. Melkor rolled his eyes and sat down heavily in his seat. What did he want now?

"Look…I'm not sure I should be telling you this right now, but I know you won't go spreading it around-" _What does he mean by that, the patronising bast- _"Eru wants me to command Arda. Varda's coming with me…and I want you for Chief Engineer." He paused. "If you want, that is. Varda's already looking forward to it." He paused. "I think." He cleared his throat. "Anyway…keep it quiet, yeah? See you soon."

As soon as the message ended Melkor replayed it. By the end of the second playback his face had split into a mad, wide smile. He played it back again, the flesh of his forearms creeping with anticipation as he heard his brother tell him that his place on Arda, as a Senior Officer, in a position of unprecedented power and prestige, was assured. His plans could continue unchecked, unstoppable, and far removed from the Iluvátar's authority.

"Computer," he said with relish, "send a message to Crewmember Enwe." The computer bleeped in response.

"Enwe," he said, "good news."


	8. Chapter 8

The bridge was as busy as it had ever been, swarming with ceaseless activity over all four levels. Manwë frowned as, time and again, he had to force his bulky frame against the wall to allow streams of technicians past, their heads buried in print-outs and chirruping tablet devices. They had entered the final stage of the transformation of Arda; the storms that had wracked the planet for weeks had finally subsided, leaving behind a pristine landscape of rolling plains, sandy beaches and sky-scraping forests.

A few things hadn't gone to plan, of course. Huge mountain ranges had appeared around the northern edges of the twin continents, leading to a near-total ice cap and freezing conditions even far to their south. On the eastern continent, too, offshoots of the great northern mountains snaked down the latitudes like the spines of serpents, forbidding and impassable. But it was too late to do much about it, and many of the crew had opined that they preferred the planet this way; it looked "more real", as many of them muttered.

Manwë flicked through his report one last time. His proposed senior officers stood in a line on the screen, staring blankly. His review was cut short by a buzz from the intercom beside him – the Captain's sign for him to enter.

"Good morning, Mister Mate," the Captain greeted him, immediately signalling him to sit as Manwë reflexively stood to attention. "Looking good, isn't she?" Eru asked, wheeling his chair back to better show Arda in the window. The planet glowed softly beneath them, a sea of blue and white, calm and inviting.

"She certainly is, Sir," Manwë replied.

"Not _exactly_ as I would have wanted her," the Captain continued, "but, like any child, the moment you first see her you know – immediately – that she's perfect." He sighed wistfully, craning forward as though he would suddenly take flight through the forcefield and float down to his beloved creation.

"She's ours," Manwë replied simply, "we made her, all of us. We all feel as proud as any parent would."

"Do you and Varda plan to have children someday, Manwë?" Eru asked. Manwë's eyes widened at the unexpected question.

"Well…ahm," he stuttered, unprepared. He hadn't even discussed it with his wife, let alone his captain. "I'm not sure, Sir," he replied, "I had always assumed that…maybe…some day?"

"If you want my advice," the Captain said, still staring down at Arda's surface, "do it. Nothing will give you more satisfaction than knowing you've brought into being something which will outlive and outdo you." He turned to face Manwë, his eyes sick with pain. "I lost my sons to the Blight," he said softly, his stolid countenance briefly faltering. Manwë nodded solemnly. "Beautiful boys, brilliant. When they were taken, my grief wasn't just that I had lost my children…it was that Ain had lost two of the greatest men she would ever know, before she ever truly knew them."

"My heart is broken for you, Sir," Manwë mumbled.

Eru inhaled sharply, dispelling his misery with brutal, military efficiency. "But now, Ain shall have many more sons, on the surface of Arda," he said, a proud smile returning to his face. "Do you have your report?"

"Yes, Sir," Manwë replied quickly, handing over the tablet. The Captain flicked through it swiftly, skipping and skimming. Mutters and mumbles of assent passed his lips periodically, until suddenly the flicking and mouthing stopped. Manwë squirmed. He knew exactly why he'd stopped; the timing, in fact, was down to the exact second Manwë had predicted.

"Do you remember what I told you the last time we were in this office, Commander?" Eru asked, laying the tablet down at his desk and steepling his fingers. "About why it's so difficult to find good colonial officers?"

"You said you needed someone you could truly rely on," Manwë replied. "Someone who won't crack under the pressure."

"And yet," Eru went on, "you want to take, as Chief Engineer, a man whose record for insubordination – and, let's be honest, just generally _pissing people off _– is as long as my arm!" He barked.

"There's no questioning Melkor is…difficult to get along with," Manwë said, an understatement if there ever was one, "but there's equally no questioning his genius. And I genuinely believe that he would be far more likely to shape up if he were under my direct command, rather than…erm," he finished, noticing Eru's dangerously rising eyebrow. "What I'm trying to say is," he blurted, recovering quickly, "I'm the only person he'll listen to. If I'm the only authority he has recourse to, he'll quickly learn that it's in everyone's best interest if he just does as he's told."

Eru leaned back in his chair, sucking his gums in contemplation. "I suppose it would be tremendously hypocritical of me to force you to leave your brother here, after I just…" He trailed off, growling.

"Well…yes," Manwë replied with a nervous laugh.

Eru sighed loudly, running both hands over his bald head. "You've put me in a tricky position, Commander," he grumbled. "No matter what your assurances, I can't help but worry that by putting such a troublesome officer in such an environment, we'd be endangering the entire colony. That's something I'm simply not willing to do." Manwë gulped. "But…I think we can come to some kind of arrangement."

"Such as?" Manwë asked eagerly.

Eru leant forward, holding Manwë's gaze tight. "Some help. A jobshare," he suggested. "Melkor beat out a very competent and very experienced engineer for his position, only by dint of his unique genius. It had been my hope that with one on Arda and one on-board, we'd be sorted for engineering chiefs on either end, but…well, let's hope we've got a secret genius on board."

"You want Aulë to come too?" Manwë said, following the Captain's train of thought.

"He's more than ready to become a senior officer. Co-Chief, with Melkor. A change in the dynamic of their relationship might do them both good," he said. Manwë shook his head.

"I'm not sure, Sir," he replied, "I think Melkor would feel like Aulë was treading on his toes."

"I don't give a toss if he does a fucking tarantella on them," the Captain replied, his voice terrifyingly calm. "I know everyone's patting Melkor's back over the eruption thing now, but I'm still the polar opposite of impressed with his conduct. He is a proven insubordinate with a dangerous capacity for destruction, and if you want him with you down on that planet, then he WILL have a chaperone – or at least, someone to clean up after his mess."

Manwë seethed. The Captain was beginning to touch a nerve. "I'll run it past him," he said, barely keeping the anger from his voice.

"See that you do," the Captain replied, leaning back into his chair slowly, as an elder wolf settles imperiously after barking down a young upstart. "And make sure you make him _very _clear that there's to be no negotiation. He accepts, or he stays."

Manwë sat stiff-backed in his chair and nodded tersely. Silence stretched out between them for a few more seconds before Eru motioned to the door and his First Mate left without another word. The Captain turned away to focus on his planet, only to find grey clouds sweeping across the hemisphere, heralding an afterstorm. Even she couldn't soothe his mind right now.

* * *

Varda sat bleary-eyed at her workstation, watching endless streams of numbers flow past her without making any impression. Since her argument with Manwë, she'd spent even more time at work, coming home only to collapse into bed for a few hours' unsatisfying sleep. After three days, she had now reached the stage of insomnia where her every moment was a waking dream; not quite asleep, not quite woken, she stumbled through her duties with a plodding, mechanical gait, her higher consciousness only mildly aware of what was happening and intruding only to allow her access to some higher functions of calculation and judgment.

Even weeks after she had left, Varda still caught herself looking from the corner of her eye for Enwe's figure in the doorway. With her one-time friend now seeming permanently out of the picture, and Manwë having retreated into a grumpy exile, she was alone.

Satellites flew across a holographic planet before her eyes in ordered paths, almost hypnotising her. If she could just stare a little longer, lose herself to the rhythm, she might find some kind of rest. Like a magician's watch swinging before the volunteer's eyes, like the regular timbre of his voice as he counted down from ten, it guided her slowly into-

_What was that?_

Something broke the flow. Something was different. Varda blinked hard, forcing her eyes to refresh and re-look. After some minutes, she spotted it.

One of the satellites was gone.

With a sickly feeling in the pit of her stomach reinvigorating her with nervous energy, Varda set to work. Expanding the floating globe before her with a hand gesture, she ordered the computer to retrace the steps of the satellites. As the hologram slowed and began to spin in the opposite direction, she scoured the image for the tell-tale sign of deviation. Tiny dots of light flew slowly backwards, eating up their iridescent trails until – _there._ A new dot of light appeared on the globe. Varda gasped. Somehow, eight minutes ago, one of her satellites disappeared.

Her brow furrowed in confusion. It simply wasn't possible; even if the internal tracking hardware had malfunctioned, the software in the other satellites was programmed to track its missing brother via radiolocation. If the satellite had fallen out of orbit, a distress call would have immediately registered – it was the most basic level of its construction.

"Did anyone see that-" she called out across the bay, only to realise she was alone. She dimly remembered there being other people around her at one point, but how long ago that had been, she couldn't say. How long had it been since she'd sat down?

With enough adrenaline coursing through her to keep her awake and lucid for a week, Varda set to work, pulling up the real-time specs of all active satellites. According to the computer, there were twenty-three satellites above the surface of Arda, mostly concerning themselves with monitoring conditions on the surface in anticipation of the first Scout team setting foot on the planet.

She then turned her attention to the most recent activity log – satellites transmitted details such as position, elevation, speed and occupation to the central computer on the Iluvátar every minute, on the minute. She scrolled back through the minutes immediately after her attention was roused, until her theory was confirmed – the activity log counted twenty-four satellites one minute, twenty-three the next.

Varda tried every method she could think of to locate the missing satellite, only to come up empty. She was forced to conclude that the satellite was no longer in orbit around Arda, which opened up an entirely more disturbing series of conclusions; namely, that the satellite had somehow been immediately destroyed, in some way fast enough to prevent even a distress or emergency signal from being broadcast.

The satellite had disappeared over Arda's huge, encircling ocean; if it had broken up or exploded, any debris – if, indeed, any survived – would be long lost to the deep. Varda mouthed frantically as ideas popped in and out of her head, until at last a good one stuck. "Contact Surveillance, any available officer," she commanded the computer. A floating screen appeared before her, quickly filled with a face.

"First Lieutenant Nessa here, how can I help you, Commander?"

"Lieutenant," Varda addressed her, "I need to know if any of the external cannons have been activated or fired in the last hour."

Nessa frowned slightly. "Ma'am?"

Varda sighed. "One of the satellites is down," she said quietly, out of her own embarrassment rather than fear of her non-existent colleagues eavesdropping. "I'm exploring every possible explanation."

"Right you are, Commander," Nessa replied smartly. Several seconds of silence passed, broken only by the _tap-tap-tap _of Nessa's fingers flitting across the keys of her workstation. "None of the external cannons have been activated in the last hour," she informed her, scanning through reams of information, absorbing it easily. "In fact, none of them have been activated since last week's routine test firing," she said with an apologetic look.

Varda cursed silently. She'd known it couldn't possibly have been that simple, but she would have gladly taken it. Another idea came to her. "How far do the ship's external sensors extend?"

"More than far enough to reach the thermosphere, Commander," Nessa replied with a smirk, already ahead of her. "When exactly did you lose tracking, and where?"

"Sending the co-ordinates now," Varda replied, dragging the activity log through the air with a finger and flicking it into the screen.

"Okay then," Nessa said under her breath, her fingers flying to input the numbers, "let's see what happened out there." A second screen bloomed before Varda's eyes, as it did before Nessa's, showing a fuzzy grey half-sphere with blue dots traversing its surface. "The picture's false-colour," Nessa explained as they watched, "it's just a very basic echolocation at this dist-"

Both fell silent simultaneously as the same impossible event transpired on their screens. The blue dot crept slowly across the grey planet's face, before disappearing without warning. "I don't understand," Nessa mumbled, rewinding and replaying the footage. "If it had exploded the sensors would have definitely picked up the blast, it's as if it just-"

"Disappeared," Varda finished for her. Nessa said some more, but it went through one ear and out the other; Varda was lost within herself, searching her mind for possibilities to explain the impossible. A freak weather event, a sudden shift in the gravitational field, a spontaneous wormhole appearing in that exact area of the atmosphere – each more fantastical than the last, and none of them even close to explaining what-

"-COMMANDER!"

Varda nearly leapt out of her seat as Nessa's voice blared through the speakers. "What?" She blurted. Nessa just pointed to her screen, her mouth agape with surprise. Varda squinted at the screen, and her heart skipped a beat.

The satellite was back.

"It just…appeared," Nessa said, showing live footage from the ship's sensors over their shared screen. She rewound it and, sure enough, a blue dot appeared from nowhere as if someone had spliced two reels together. Varda checked her own screens; twenty-four satellites again. "Perhaps a storm masked the satellite's presence and interfered with its hardware?" Nessa suggested.

"Not possible," Varda muttered, "no storm could ever reach that high."

"That's what I thought," Nessa replied, "and it's still the best idea I have."

Varda looked at her sadly. "Me too."

* * *

Some hours later, Melkor's computer blinked. _Incoming call_, it told him. _Commander Varda – Priority VALA_.

"Hello, sister-in-law," Melkor drawled as he accepted the call. Varda grimaced, unable to stop herself. Her screen was filled with an image of Melkor looking down at her, as though she were kneeling before him. Even by his standards, it was crass.

"Is your workstation broken?" She asked. Melkor shrugged.

"I'm on the tablet. I like working on the floor. Helps me relax. I'm told I should do more of it," he said conversationally, enjoying the effect his forced politeness was having on Varda.

"Melkor, have you heard what happened in Low Orbit Tech earlier today?" Varda questioned him, her patience for Melkor's flippancy non-existent.

"Yes, Enwe told me all about it," Melkor replied, wide-eyed with mock interest. "She does keep her ear close to her friends in Low Orbit Tech. Her…other friends, I mean, not…well, that's between the pair of you." Varda bristled, her nostrils flaring dangerously. "A real mystery, isn't it? A whole satellite, just completely disappearing for an hour!"

Varda swallowed hard. Melkor's mocking tones reminded her of how Enwe used to be; effusive, expressive and exaggerated. Not content with turning her into a cold, superficial monster like himself, was he now parading her old personality before her, wearing it like the pelt of a slaughtered animal, to humiliate her?

"It's not to be laughed at, and you know it," she replied. "If one of our satellites can go off the grid for that long, it means someone on the inside is sabotaging us."

Melkor nodded slowly, running his tongue over his teeth. "I did wonder why you engaged Vala priority for this call," he said, leaning close enough to the camera that Varda could see his pores. "Confidential. Unrecorded. What happens in this call, stays there. Isn't that right, Varda?"

"I'm heading an investigation into what happened," she told him, with a certain amount of relish. "Luckily, the Captain considers this matter just as serious as I do. And Melkor?" She leaned closer to her camera, refusing to bite. "If I find out you were behind this," she hissed, "If I learn you're sabotaging this mission, I swear by the Five Heavens, I will put you in an airlock and I will watch you choke."

"I'm dreadfully sorry," Melkor replied, his voice mellifluous as ever, "but I am going to disappoint you. Goodnight, Varda." His smiling, boyish face disappeared from her screen, leaving her seething in rage.

Melkor turned the tablet off and straightened up, stretching his back and arms out. He turned to survey the wreckage which had once been his quarters. His workstation fizzed and hissed alarmingly where he had driven the lamp through its main console, and his bedding looked like a wild animal had become entangled in it. Clumps of wadding were strewn from pillar to post, and scraps of cloth floated down from the light fittings and exposed communication cables like confetti.

Melkor tutted, momentarily feeling ashamed of himself; the feeling, however, passed quickly. After all, Melkor told himself, it was Eru's own fault for denying Melkor what was rightfully his and insisting on such a humiliating and embarrassing measure. And it was only out of respect for his brother that he'd waited until he'd left the room. The way they'd both treated him, he'd have thought they believed him to be mad.


End file.
